


Mad World

by Annissa



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Adult Content, Adult Themes, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fantasy, Grief/Mourning, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Trope Subversion/Inversion, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:16:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 98,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8811145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annissa/pseuds/Annissa
Summary: Later, Jareth would look back on the moment just before her sudden and unexpected arrival to reassure himself that he hadn’t made any wishes. Wishes always demand payment, and some wishes have far higher prices than others.





	1. The Story of Queen Sarah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before we begin, I'd like to share a few trigger warnings that will appear late in the fic. These include depictions of child abuse, sexual assault, mentions of sexual abuse of a minor, and suggestions of forced impregnation/childbirth. Trigger warnings have been placed at the head of each chapter to which they apply.

Later, Jareth would look back on the moment just before her sudden and unexpected arrival to reassure himself that he hadn’t made any wishes. Wishes always demanded payment, and some wishes had far higher prices than others. This wish, had he been the one to make it, would have cost him dearly.

In moments of doubt, he would ask himself for what reason would he have made the wish. During her first run, he could see that she would grow to be a true beauty, but at the time, she was far too young for him to consider keeping, even if such a thing were possible. And if his appeal to her in the last few seconds of their game had succeeded, it would have only served to prove that she wasn’t worthy of winning. But she had denied him, something no mortal had done before, and proven that she was worthy of a second chance with her family.

She had abandoned her dreams, left them Underground, with him, and he kept them close and treasured them. He would not torment her with them as he had done to the people who had traversed his Kingdom before ultimately failing, or the people who hadn’t even tried. But she would never realize them, either. No good deed, and all that.

He comforted himself with the knowledge that there was no real reason for him to have made the wish. The silly, melodramatic girl was gone, leaving the best of herself with him.

But that would be later. In the moment, her appearance in the center of his throne room shocks him into stillness. Sparkling fallout showers the throne room as her limp form falls to the floor with a decidedly non-magical thud. Though caught off-guard, he still understands immediately what has happened, and does not concern himself with her physical well-being. She’ll have a few bruises, he knows, but this new body of hers will be much more resilient than the old. The emotional damage, and he knows there will be plenty of it, will take longer to assess. 

Naked as the day she was born, for in a most unnatural way, it _is_ the day she was born, she lies unmoving on the floor. This is one trauma he can spare her, at least. The sudden appearance and unanticipated sound from her fall has confused the goblins, giving him an opportunity to transport his subjects out of the castle and into the city square before they notice who she is. Though the goblins would not care how she is dressed, he knows what it is like to be exposed and defenseless in front of so many uncaring eyes.

As he stands from his throne, stepping lightly to the depressed stone circle where she lies curled on the floor, he conjures a cloak. It is an old favorite of his, thin, light, and warm. He carefully covers her body, then crouches over her, taking a long, hard look. 

The girl is practically vibrating with magical potential. He knows, however, that she will not realize that potential immediately.

He raises his hands and runs them through the air over her. The magical signature is not what he expected and makes him reevaluate who might have done this to her. The magic weaving through her aura makes his skin tingle pleasantly, and he fights the urge to touch her. He closes his gloved hands into fists and rests them on his knees.

She’s older, he notices, but not by much. Her face has thinned some; her chin longer and her cheekbones more defined, giving her a finer, more mature appearance. But she is still, unmistakably, her. The transformation has preserved her mortal image, even though it has fundamentally changed her physical makeup.

“Sarah,” he says, and it does not surprise him when the name falls flat on the air, with no spark of the magic or power it had once held. She has been renamed. Of course.

_The Goblin Queen_. It is her destiny. He knows all too well that there will be no negotiations, no bargains, and no escape. After all, this is how it had happened to him, too.

“Welcome home,” he finishes, cheerlessly.

 

Sarah takes a final look around her childhood bedroom, debating once more whether or not to take the statuette that looks so much like the wild-haired man who had sent her on such an adventure nearly four years earlier. She often wonders why she’s never bothered to throw it out. The only sentimental value it holds is its resemblance to a fairy tale creature she wishes she could forget. But there is something about it that she still finds fascinating even after all this time, and she has never been able to bring herself to get rid of it, or even to put it somewhere where she cannot see it.

She has already packed the plush dolls that resemble Ludo and Sir Didymus and the bookend that looks so much like Hoggle. Her friends have remained constant, and if she cannot see them while she is at college, she’ll keep their likenesses nearby. Deciding she has packed too much already, she feels an almost physical pain when she turns her back on the statuette, knowing she’ll be without it until the coming holidays. Ignoring the feeling, she hoists the last of her bags on her shoulder and leaves the room.

Outside, she places the bag in the back of her car, then lets the rear door drop, being careful not to pinch her fingers. The gas spring has long since given up the ghost, and the door slams shut with a loud bang.

The day dawned bright and hot that August morning and the daily forecast showed no hint of foul weather. It is a perfect day for a long drive. In addition to the likenesses of her friends, the boxes and bags skillfully arranged in the back of Sarah’s car hold everything she’ll need for her first year at college. In the passenger seat, a large collection of cassettes in their unzipped travel organizer wait for their turn in the car’s tape deck.

Robert looks doubtfully at the old Chevette. “I still don’t think you should drive that thing all the way on your own,” he mumbles more to himself than to her.

Sarah gives her dad a small smile, but does not reply. It’s an old argument, and one she isn’t willing to have again. She wants to have a car at school and it just doesn’t make sense to have her entire family drive behind her only to turn around the next day and drive home. In any case, she knows it isn’t the car he’s really worried about. Though old and small, it’s been surprisingly reliable since she purchased it the previous summer. No, it’s not the car bothering Robert. It’s definitely the five hundred miles that will be separating them by the time the sun goes down that evening. Sarah pats the top of the car as though Robert’s comments hurt its feelings.

_This is it_ , she thinks with excitement. This is the beginning of her adult life. The car is packed and it is time to go. The next time she returns to this house, it will be as a guest. Despite her excitement about starting this new life, she hasn’t looked forward to saying goodbye. She walks slowly to where Toby sits on the house’s front steps looking dejectedly at his feet.

“Do you have to go?” he asks, looking up at her with big blue eyes.

Sarah sighs and hunkers down in front of him. This was the part she’d dreaded the most. Toby has been anxious for weeks about her leaving and now that the day has arrived, she worries that he will handle it badly. “Yeah,” she answers quietly. No point in sugar-coating it. “It’s time.”

Toby continues looking at her earnestly, and Sarah can see the gears spinning in his little mind. “Can I have your room?” he asks, his voice serious.

Sarah bites back a laugh. So much for emotional breakdowns. “Where will I sleep when I come back for a visit?” she asks in just as serious a voice.

“You can sleep on the couch,” he answers, the tone in his voice making it clear that he believes this to be not just a reasonable accommodation, but a generous one.

Shaking her head in amusement, Sarah tousles Toby’s hair. The little boy pulls away from Sarah’s hand, in no mood to be patronized.

“I’m gonna miss you, Tobes,” she sighs. “Be good for your mom and dad, all right?”

Toby gives her a small, crooked smile in lieu of an answer. She thinks to herself that she already misses that secret smile of his, still finding it hard to believe that she’s going to be missing so much of his childhood while she goes to school.

“Never mind your dad,” Karen says as she swoops in to give Sarah a hug. “They worry. It’s in the job description.” She leans in to whisper, “College is supposed to be fun, Sarah. Join some clubs and make some friends, ok?”

Sarah feels the familiar stab of hurt and annoyance. She hadn’t made friends in high school. Most of the kids had thought she was too weird to hang out with, even after she stopped dressing up and reciting lines in the park. For the past several years, Sarah has wondered if she brought something of the Labyrinth back with her. She’d read stories about normal people being “fae touched.” They were never the same again. She’d tried - oh, she’d tried! - to make friends with her classmates. It wasn’t as if they’d bullied her; it was more like they simply didn’t notice her. She’d attempted to join in with some groups, but when group after group just walked away from her as if she wasn’t there, she’d become too shy to try anymore.

It had taken a few years, but Sarah had eventually come to realize that Karen’s interest in Sarah’s social life was Karen’s unique way of showing Sarah that she cared, but every mention of parties or boys only served to twist the knife piercing her self-esteem. She would have loved to go to parties and would have loved for boys to show her any kind of attention, but that kind of social interaction just didn’t seem to be in the cards for her.

She pushes the hurt away and puts a smile on her face. _No fighting on my last day home,_ she tells herself, knowing that Karen at least means well.

When Sarah pulls back from the hug, Karen reaches into her pocket and hands Sarah a little plastic card. “We got you a prepaid phone card. The instructions are on the back. Call us whenever you stop for gas, ok? We’ll recharge the card when it gets low.”

“Thank you,” Sarah says, studying the back of the card. It really is a thoughtful gift. A lifeline home, should she need it. She gives Karen a smile before turning to her dad.

She puts her arms around his neck and hugs him tightly like she’d done when she was a little girl. He pats her back awkwardly, unsure how to return the gesture.

“I can’t believe you’re all grown. When did that happen?”

Sarah pulls away and shrugs slightly, not knowing how to answer. Her interactions with her dad often lead to these awkward pauses, neither of them really knowing how to express their feelings toward the other. When she was younger, she would have had a tantrum over their mutual misunderstandings. After her experience in the Labyrinth, she has realized that her father loves her deeply, but has never been very comfortable showing it, and she now takes it in stride.

“Oh!” he says as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He removes a couple of twenty dollar bills and hands them to her. “Pizza money,” he says. “You’ll probably need it.”

She nods her thanks and takes the bills. She had learned long ago that this was how her father felt most comfortable showing his affection. When she was a little girl, it was toys and costumes. As a college student, it would apparently be pizza money. That was fine. A little extra spending money would be nice to have.

He takes another long look at his daughter. “Have a safe trip,” he says.

“Thanks, Dad,” she responds, sincerely.

“Drive carefully.”

“I will.”

“If you get tired, pull over.”

“Ok, Dad,” she says, annoyance creeping into her voice as she opens her car door and climbs in.

“Ok,” he nods.

Sarah starts the car, shifts into reverse, and backs out of the driveway. As she puts the car in drive and hits the gas, Robert shouts one last piece of advice.

“No dating!”

Sarah looks at her family in the rearview mirror and laughs as Karen swats Robert’s arm.

 

The excitement of leaving home soon gives way to the tedious monotony of the drive. Sarah pops the first cassette into the tape deck and sighs at the tinny sound that emanates from the speakers. The sound system is pathetic, but better than nothing. She turns up the volume and begins humming along to the music.

The Sunday morning freeway traffic is light and her mind begins to wander as she drives. Before long, she stops humming and begins to feel plagued by the concerns of the upcoming week. She worries about the cattle call that is class registration, having found an English Literature course that she desperately wants to take. Hordes of students will descend on the stadium, each of them trying to get into their preferred classes. As a freshman, she will already be among the last students allowed to register. As a Williams, she’ll be among the last freshmen in line. She had heard there was a new system that allowed students to register over the phone instead of standing in lines, but that only makes her more anxious as she isn’t sure how the system will work. What if her roommate is one of those girls who always talks on the phone and Sarah misses out on her class because the line is busy?

Her roommate… She has the name of the girl with whom she’d be a sharing a room, but she knows nothing about her. Sarah wonders if she is a social butterfly-type. Maybe she could help Sarah integrate with the student population better than she had in high school. In any case, she thinks it unlikely that the roommate will ignore her.

She imagines the pair of them going out to football games and parties, being introduced to boys, and maybe - just maybe - actually getting a boyfriend.

Her thoughts turn to the Labyrinth, as they often do when she thinks about boys. The lessons she’d learned there had never left her. She’d put away many of those childish things that had led to her wishing Toby away, preferring instead to embrace the responsibility of adulthood. She’d watched her kid brother when asked. She’d done the chores she was expected to do. She pulled good grades and earned scholarships. But she had yet to meet anyone that made her feel the warm, tingly confusion the Goblin King made her feel. She hadn’t recognized the feeling during her run. She hadn’t known what it had meant. But she’s felt weak echoes of it since, whenever she saw someone who vaguely resembled the charismatic king. She recognizes it now: Attraction. Want.

_And you, Sarah…_ In her memory, his voice caresses her name. _How are you enjoying my Labyrinth?_ He had leaned over her in that dark passageway, overwhelming her with his presence. She had needed a moment to compose herself before spitting out probably the stupidest thing she could have said to him.

Sometimes she feels cheated and wonders if the Goblin King intentionally warped her development. When she thinks of the ideal man, his image immediately comes to mind, though she knows it’s ridiculous to think of it. His features are too sharp to be considered conventionally attractive and his demeanor is too cruel. And yet, late at night, when she’s by herself, she can’t stop herself from fantasizing about what might have been. What might have happened if she’d taken him up on his offer and stayed with him.

_Just let me rule you and you can have everything that you want…_

Nonsense. What business did he have making promises like that? 

_Just fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave._

Fear him? Naturally. Love him? Never. The man was old enough to be her father at least! And besides, he didn’t deserve to be loved. He was a nightmare come to life made all the worse by his allure.

And he _was_ alluring! It was insult to injury as far as she was concerned. He had kidnapped her little brother, forced her to play his game, and then… what? Flirted with her? What kind of maniac…

She is pulled from her thoughts when the music abruptly cuts off. Her eyes snap to the stereo, but there is nothing to see. The cassette is still in the player and the play button is depressed. Already irritated, Sarah lets out a loud groan of frustration and hits the eject button. The cassette pops out and as she pulls it from the player, it is followed by two long lines of dark brown tape.

“Damnit!” she swears as she glances back at the road and adjusts the wheel to keep the car in her lane.

Sarah looks back at the tape in her hand and sighs. She checks the road again to make sure she is still within the lines, then closes her eyes for a moment to allow her frustration to ebb. She lays the cassette on the case that holds the others and moves her eyes back to the road. As she rounds a bend, she finds her way blocked. In the middle of her lane, mere yards from her swiftly moving car, stands a doe.

Without thinking, Sarah stamps her foot on the brakes and swerves. Time seems to slow as she narrowly misses the animal. She has only a moment to thank whatever god is watching that there aren’t many cars on the road. All thoughts of regaining control of the vehicle seem to flee her mind as she catches the eye of the deer. The dark, liquid brown seems to draw her in, disconnecting her from reality.

Her head spins as her limbs readjust themselves into a new and unfamiliar position. The sharp roar of an engine envelops her before quickly retreating and being replaced by the unnatural shriek of a car horn. The sound of metal on metal seems to tumble in her ears, crash after crash. When the loudest of the sounds pass, the more gentle sounds of idling engines can be heard.

As she regains her bearings, she finds herself standing still in the center of the road, but not standing the way she would normally. She is now on four legs. The feeling is natural, as if she has always been this way. Though she has the sense that it should be familiar, the scent of burning gasoline from the engines make her shake her head as if she could rid herself of it.

From where she stands, she can see the little orange car, once so familiar, and now so foreign, crumpled on the side of the road. The front of the car is nearly gone and the back hadn’t fared much better when the car traveling behind her had plowed into it. The force of the collision has forced the driver’s side door open and cassette tapes litter the seat. Boxes and bags that had been so carefully packed have tumbled out through broken windows and lie scattered on the asphalt. A single bookend in the shape of a dwarf lies shattered in the center of the road near her feet.

Sarah watches as two people slowly climb out of the other wrecked vehicle, their expressions dazed. Another motorist, a man in a white shirt, quickly approaches the couple. From her position several yards away, she can tell he is making sure they aren’t hurt. She can’t quite make out what they are saying to each other, but she can see them nod, assuring one another that they are all right. The white-shirted man then approaches the orange car cautiously, his body language screaming dread. He hunches over as he looks through the shattered windows into the interior of the vehicle. When he straightens, Sarah can see the look of confusion on his face. He walks around the car to peer over the guardrail, then, after closing his eyes for a second and taking a deep breath, he gets down on his hands and knees and looks under the car. When he stands again, he begins shouting.

Other people have begun to climb out of their vehicles and approach the scene, seeing if there is anything they can do or if they can begin to direct traffic around the accident. As Sarah watches, an elderly woman points at her. Sarah startles at the attention as several people turn to stare at her. It is an unfamiliar feeling to have the eyes of so many people trained on her. The man in the white shirt begins to approach her and the impulse to run becomes too intense to ignore. She skitters backward, momentarily feeling awkward on her feet, before turning and running away from the burning smells, the gawking people, and the human world. 

Away from the engines and people, the sights, sounds, and smells of the woods begin to fill her senses. It’s the leaves that first catch her attention. They have a new, more musical sound as the wind whistles through them, causing the limbs to which they are attached to creak in time. Nearby, a stream babbles, lending an alto note to the music. Dappled sunlight breaks through the foliage, highlighting the soft green vegetation and occasional mushroom on the forest floor. The clean, vegetal smell of the grass draws her closer and she bends forward to nip a mouthful. It is sweet and cool in her mouth as she chews. She swallows and leans in for more. She continues grazing as she walks - a bit of leaf here, a bite of mushroom there - until she is satisfied.

After a time, she finds a hidden spot in which to bed down. As she settles herself, she brings up her cud to chew. She remains alert, aware of her surroundings. The woods around her are calm as night begins to fall. As far as she is concerned, everything is fine. She dozes occasionally, waking often to ensure she is still safe.

She rises with the sun and begins foraging once more for food. A meadow offers her more long grass and she is delighted to find a bit of clover as well. The ever-present song of the woods accompanies her throughout the day as she forages, wanders, and beds down for several hours, then forages some more.

Days pass in this way, and though she does not want for food, loneliness begins to creep in. She knows, feeling it deep in her bones, that she is not meant to be alone. She needs the company of her own kind to help keep her safe. The more time passes, the more anxiety she feels.

One evening, just before sunset, she stands near a small clearing, attempting to pull some unripe apples from a small tree, when the music of the forest is disrupted by a small noise. It is the tiniest sound, nearly inaudible. Just a small snap. Her heart begins to race and she stands stock-still, sniffing the air. It is clean, smelling only of the apples, the grass, and the trees around her. Nothing threatening. It is only when the breeze picks up and changes the direction of the wind that she catches it - tangy, sharp, and dangerous. She whips her head in the direction of the scent and sees them.

Coyotes.

Immediately, she turns on her heels and runs as fast as her legs will take her. The pack of coyotes follows in hot pursuit, trailing her, attempting to surround her and cut off her escape route. Instinct will not be enough to save her and she does not have the experience to outrun them. One snaps at her haunch, causing her to veer to the left where a fallen tree blocks her path. She bunches her legs underneath her to leap over when one of the coyotes jumps on her back, throwing her off-balance and causing her to collapse against the rotting trunk. They are on her before she can blink, one tearing at her haunch and another ripping into her belly.

The stinks of the predators is soon overwhelmed by the scent of her own blood. She doesn’t want to die, but she feels no grief, just painful resignation. Unable to move, she lays her head on the ground and her eyes focus on a trail of ants as they march away from the fallen and rotting tree.

One comes close to her face and her eyes are barely able to focus on it as it passes by. She isn’t sure if it has the ability to look in her eyes, but as she stares at it, she feels that sensation of weightlessness and disorientation. The pain in her belly and haunch abruptly stop as her legs stumble over one another. Her eyesight becomes blurry, but she finds she doesn’t mind. She is more concerned that walking has suddenly become much more complicated. She pauses and considers her legs. There are more of them than there were before. She puts one leg in front of the other, in front of the other, and then tries the other side. Oh! There are six of them! Raising her head, she can sense the trail in front of her and begins to follow it.

Her world is now silent, but the vibrations of the forest around her give her a sense of where she is. The scent trail in front of her leads to a morsel of food, small enough for her to lift and carry back to the nest. Her work is not so dissimilar from her activities from the past several days, but it is far more intense. She isn’t simply filling her belly until the next time she feels hungry; she is providing for hundreds of her kin. 

The work never ends. She makes several trips, following the chemical trail left by those who passed this way before her while taking note of certain landmarks as she goes. The chemical trail is comforting, giving her a sense of community and purpose, but she soon finds it unnecessary. As the known food source at the end of the trail is depleted, she feels the urge to explore further.

She feels excitement as she leaves the chemical trail. The familiar landmarks quickly fall behind her and she stops frequently to scent the air. 

Twice in quick succession, shadows fall over her. She can feel the vibration of several legs hitting the ground around her. She has only a moment to fear for her safety before the vibrations begin to fade, indicating that whatever had loomed over her has moved on. She moves forward and picks up a new chemical trail. It isn’t the same as the one from her nest. This is new and unfamiliar, but the scent is compelling, fascinating, and she feels she must follow it.

A large object blocks the sun, and the cool ground beneath her indicates that it is stationary and permanent. She makes a note of the change as she continues forward. She knows she should change direction and possibly head back to the nest, but she feels compelled to continue forward. She finds herself in a steady uphill climb. The incline, combined with the lack of sunlight, indicates that she is headed toward a large tree, and soon she finds herself crawling directly up the trunk. She does not know how far she has traveled since she left the chemical trail and companionship of her nest. Her legs grow tired as she continues to crawl upwards.

There is no sense of detachment or confusion this time as her legs stretch, reaching down into the cool earth and drinking in moisture and sustenance. Her eyesight diminishes entirely, but her world is not black. The sun warms her body and she reaches her branches toward it as a breeze blows through her leaves. She stands proud and tall, holding her limbs out wide to catch the sun and air, providing refuge to small creatures that have made their homes in her boughs.

The arc of the sun across the sky gives her a sense of the passage of time, but that passage holds no significance for her. A sense of peace pervades her entire being. What is, simply _is_ , and what is not does not matter. She breathes and allows herself to just be.

She can feel the vibrations of the small animals that have made their homes in her branches and welcomes them. She is their home and their guardian. She takes ownership of the role and feels honored to be a part of their lives. They bring companionship, meaning, and purpose to her existence and the pride she feels nearly overwhelms her.

Her days, however, are numbered. She should have lived years, possibly hundreds of them, serving these creatures, but one species has other plans for her. A small number of them come to her in several large vehicles, fouling the air as they arrive. She can neither see nor hear them, but she feels their vibrations and can smell the exhaust. The familiarity of it prickles the back of her consciousness. Without preamble, they hoist themselves into her branches and begin removing her limbs. Her despair is overwhelming as the little animals she has protected flee. These men will not care for her creatures when she is gone. A gust of wind whips through her branches and she shivers.

A large bird, an osprey, alights on one of her uppermost branches, a brave move when men are at work below. It grasps the slender branch in its talons and holds tight. She knows what comes next, and this time, she wills it, forcing her consciousness up and into the bird. It is there for her. To save her.

Vision returns, sharper than she ever thought possible. The sounds of the men below are deafening as they use their machines to lop off large branches. The tree sways with their movements and she spreads her wings and launches herself into the air.

Freedom! With nothing to weigh her down or hold her back, she flies higher into the sky, leaving her responsibilities and cares behind her. She needs no one and nothing and thoughts of the little animals that counted on her flee her mind. There is so much to see and hear that she is nearly overwhelmed by the amount of sensory input she is receiving. She feels as if she can fly forever. When she spies a river below her, she follows it down the mountainside.

Her new eyes see everything so clearly that she can make out dozens of fish swimming in the river below. Her instincts scream at her to hunt and she dives for one, adjusting her body at the last moment to plunge deep into the water, grabbing the fish with her talons and gripping it tightly. She struggles to the surface and immediately takes to the air once more, adjusting the fish so it does not interfere with her flight.

The pattern of eating and sleeping comes back to her quickly, and though there are others of her kind nearby, she feels no need for their company. She feels compelled to define a territory and defend it and is surprised when none of the others challenge her presence. There is a deference to them that does not seem natural to her. She quickly learns to take advantage of it, though, often invading their territory to hunt for herself. Though she is brazen about taking territory, she stops shy of being a bully and does not steal food from the others. She finds it deeply satisfying to catch her own food.

Diving and grabbing comes to her naturally and she does it countless times without thought, so when she dives for a salmon and feels that moment of disconnect as she looks into its eyes, she is unprepared. Her head swims, and before she knows it, so does her body. The talons that used to belong to her disappear from around her. She does not know whether the osprey returns to the surface to hunt elsewhere or if it simply ceases to exist. It is gone, and only her salmon-self is left in the water, swimming against the current, trying to get back to the place where she was spawned.

It feels as if everything is an obstacle. She fights the current and knows that if she is persistent, she can make it home again. However, there are many dangers. She is prey to any number of animals both in and out of the water, and if she is not careful, she may find herself hopelessly lost in the wrong tributary.

The work is difficult, but her task is simple and thoughtless. She has no desire to eat, nor any desire to sleep. There is only the movement, the fight, and the hope that she will succeed. She doesn’t know how long she swims. She does not keep track of the passage of hours or days. They blur together until they are indistinguishable from one another.

She does not see the hand that grabs her and pulls her from the water. She gasps and chokes at the lack of cool water through her gills. She is drowning on dry land. Her eyes are useless in the air, but she can hear and she can understand.

“Ah, there you are, lass. Recognize you anywhere, I would.” The speaker is male, but she doesn’t believe for a moment that he is a man. “Think you’ve had enough now. It’s time.”

She is placed, still gasping, in a basket lined with straw. The air is torture as it passes through her body, drying her out. Her eyesight, already diminished, fades entirely, and she stills. She waits for the moment of transfer, the disorientation that has always come, but it doesn’t happen. Her body dies, and she remains trapped within it, unable to see, unable to move, but somehow able to hear and to think. Sorrow overwhelms her. She hadn’t made it home.

She is thankful for the loss of feeling as she is taken into a dwelling and prepared for supper. There is no pain, nor even a tugging sensation as she is sliced and her innards removed. Though she cannot see or feel it, she knows she has been placed over a fire. She can hear her flesh sizzle as she is cooked.

It is quiet for a short time, and then she hears a disappointed sigh followed by a voice, feminine and refined.

“You make a poor Salmon of Wisdom, Sarah, but I have high hopes for your future.” The voice is low, almost a whisper. “I know you can hear me, girl. Listen well.” Sarah doesn’t think she could block out the voice even if she tried. “Do you know your name means ‘princess?’ That will not do. You are destined for something much greater.” There is a thoughtful pause. “I rename you…” 

Sarah hears the syllables of her new name roll from the woman’s tongue. It burns into her consciousness, searing itself into her memory. 

The woman continues, “Hold it close; keep it safe. You hold the key to releasing us. Only you have the knowledge to stop roar…”

The woman is interrupted by a loud crash and a shout and Sarah has no time to worry about whatever it is she is supposed to stop. The voices are suddenly muffled and she feels herself begin to fall as the voices fade away. She falls and falls until, finally, oblivion claims her.


	2. Awakening

_Jareth takes a deep breath of fresh air and releases it slowly, feeling the tension ease from him. It had been a difficult morning, and he needs relief from the stress. The news the physician delivered this morning had not been good, and his brother, the heir to the estate, was nowhere to be found. Jareth did his best to fill in for Gerald, a fact his father seems to both recognize and appreciate, but Jareth feels the unfairness of it all too keenly. Jareth is the second-born, and no matter what he does, he will not inherit the estate. He tries to console himself with the knowledge that his father would choose him as his heir, if such a thing were possible._

_He knows he’s unlikely to be disturbed at the old tumulus and settles himself at the base of the mound to look out across the meadow. Most people avoid this place. Everyone he knows is Christian, but the old fairy stories are still told late at night, and more than a few of the area residents, his own family included, still hold onto their superstitions. It is the superstition that draws him here, just as much as the promise of peace._

_To his left, not far from him, he sees a fairy ring, and it piques his curiosity. It had not been there the week before. He feels his heart rate increase and allows himself this moment of excitement. His father is dying, has been for months, and the feeling of any emotion besides grief is a welcome relief. At the age of fifteen, he should be rejecting such fantasies and focusing on more serious matters, but he remembers well the stories his mother used to tell, and he likes to imagine the Fair Folk hidden just beyond the veil._

_“Jareth!”_

_Jareth cringes at the sound of his name. There’s only one person who would disturb him here._

_Gerald comes around the side of the mound and, seeing Jareth, drops to the ground next to him. The older boy stands a couple inches shorter than Jareth. Though they share the same blonde hair and long features, Gerald’s eyes are uneven, one set lower in his face than the other, giving him a lopsided appearance that often causes young women to avoid him. Jareth has often joked that it’s a good thing Gerald stands to inherit the estate; he’ll need it to entice potential brides._

_“Where were you?” Jareth asks. “The physician has come and gone.”_

_Gerald lets his head fall back against the side of the mound. Jareth knows this is difficult for him as well. As the eldest son, Gerald will be responsible for assuming their father’s duties when he finally passes. He has already begun to take over the responsibilities of Lord of the Manor while their father lies in his sickbed, but Jareth sees a streak of irresponsibility becoming all too apparent in Gerald’s actions. It worries him._

_“Jareth, I need to tell you something.”_

_Jareth immediately tenses, preparing himself for more bad news._

_Gerald takes a deep breath and faces Jareth, his eyes serious. “I’ve been to see Osanna.”_

_Jareth’s breath catches. He wonders why Gerald would go to see her, but in the back of his mind, he already knows, and dreads the answer._

_“I’ve asked her to marry me.”_

_Osanna._ His _Osanna. He pictures her, the girl the brothers had both grown up with. She’d been a proper little girl when they were children. Absolutely no fun. But she had grown into a true beauty, golden-haired and blue-eyed, and Jareth was completely smitten with her. Jareth had assumed - no, he’d known - he and Osanna were meant for each other. He had only needed to set himself up, ensured that he had a way of supporting her and her children, and he would have asked her himself. He hopes for a fraction of a moment that she has refused Gerald’s offer._

_“She has agreed. I wanted you to hear it from me.”_

_Jareth, shocked, stands and begins to pace. He walks only a few steps before turning back to Gerald. “She agreed?” he asks, unable to accept that she might have chosen someone besides himself._

_“It’s a good match, Jareth,” Gerald assures him._

_Yes, he supposes it is. Gerald would inherit the estate in its entirety, and Jareth would his bailiff. He would work closely with his brother to ensure that the estate would be run properly, but Jareth would not be in charge. Gerald, the new Lord, would have all the power._

_“But she doesn’t love you!” he shouts, surprised at his own outburst._

_Gerald stands, understanding Jareth’s challenge._

_“And you think she loves you?” he counters._

_Truthfully, the thought that she wouldn’t had never occurred to him. He’s momentarily speechless._

_“Bad luck,” Gerald says, dismissively._

_Jareth knows better than to believe people in Gerald’s position marry for love. He could have chosen anyone. Why did it have to be her?_

_“What did you promise her?” he asks, his eyes narrowing._

_“What do you think? A comfortable life, security...”_

_“I could provide that,” Jareth interrupts._

_“And status,” Gerald finishes. It is the one thing Jareth cannot offer her._

_“You can’t marry her, Gerald.” He looks beseechingly at his brother. “Please.”_

_“It’s arranged, Jareth. I’m sorry.” His apology rings insincere._

_Jareth resists the urge to strike his brother. If begging won’t work, he’ll try another tack. “I won’t let you do it,” he says, his hands balling into fists, ready to fight._

_“You don’t have a choice,” Gerald snarls._

_Jareth thinks hard, glaring at his brother. “Look at yourself, Gerald. Do you honestly believe she’ll be faithful to you?”_

_Gerald flinches. It’s a low blow, more hurtful than any physical strike, and Jareth is pleased that it found its mark. He wants Gerald to feel just as badly as he feels. “I’ll be in your home, tempting her every day. Do you think she’ll want to stay in your bed when she has other options?”_

_Gerald’s demeanor changes entirely, and Jareth knows he’s gone too far._

_“I’ve been thinking,” Gerald begins calmly, voice cold as ice, “that perhaps you shouldn’t stay on after Father passes. The Church might be a better option for you.”_

_“The Church?” Jareth isn’t quite sure what Gerald is talking about. The thought that he wouldn’t stay in their home after their father dies has never occurred to him._

_“Yes. I’m not sure you’re cut out for managing the estate. When Father dies, I want you out.”_

_Gerald turns to leave. Despite the calm tone of his voice, his shoulders are hunched, a sure signifier that he is angry. This isn’t like the other times Jareth teased Gerald about his looks, and with his threat still hanging in the air, Jareth genuinely worries about his future. He hopes Gerald will feel differently about his place in the house after he cools off, but Jareth knows he will need to make amends._

_The thought rankles. Gerald betrayed him! Why should he apologize?_

_He then notices that Gerald is walking directly into the fairy ring._

_“Wait, Gerald!” Jareth shouts after him, suddenly and inexplicably terrified that Gerald will step into it._

_The older brother spins on his heel to face Jareth, and he can see that Gerald’s heel has passed into the ring of mushrooms. “No more, Jareth,” he says. “You were always the lucky one! You got everything!” Jareth knows Gerald is right and that it goes far beyond looks. He had been the favorite of their parents; it was obvious in the way they treated the two of them. The only advantage Gerald ever had was being born first. “It’s my turn,” he finishes._

_“Did you plan this?” Jareth asks, stunned, momentarily forgetting about the fairy ring._

_“We’re done,” Gerald says, avoiding the question, and Jareth knows it’s true. Gerald had been looking for a way to get rid of Jareth. With the passing of their father, he sees his chance. Jareth had had no idea that Gerald loathed him so much. “Your line ends here. Only mine will continue. I promise you, I will see to it.” There is a look of triumph in his eyes, and any hope Jareth had of reconciliation dies._

_Gerald notices Jareth’s eyes skip down to the fairy ring. When he glances around himself, his eyes light up. “Oh, Jareth,” he starts, patronizingly. “You still believe in fairies? Are you hoping the goblins will come to whisk me away?” Gerald crushes a few of the mushrooms under his foot and his tone changes to one of pure cruelty. “Do you honestly believe Osanna would want to bed such a child?” In this moment, Jareth has never felt less a man. The woman he believed he would wed is now out of his reach, his future on the estate has been erased, and he has no prospects. But Gerald is not yet done with him. He shakes his head as if Jareth has been nothing but a disappointment to him his whole life. “Perhaps the Church would be no good for you after all. Maybe you’ll get lucky and end up in Faery. Even I wish the goblins would come and take you away right now.”_

_Gerald doesn’t wait to see how Jareth will react. He turns and stomps off, crushing a few more mushrooms as he crosses through the fairy ring._

_Dazed, Jareth slowly stumbles away from the ring, using the side of the tumulus for support. Something feels very wrong. The world tilts and he falls hard on his side. He lifts his head to call for his brother, but can’t seem to make a sound._

_He sees a roebuck in the distance and is transfixed as it comes closer, his breath coming with more and more difficulty. It stops several feet from him and simply stares as Jareth lies in the dust gasping for air. Jareth stares back, finding himself transfixed by the large black pupils of the deer’s eyes. His world suddenly shifts, and he is plunged into weeks or months of experiences that will take him years to sort through properly. He lives as the roebuck, then a boar, an owl, and, finally, a salmon. He is pulled from the water and consumed and then falls for an eternity, praying all the while for his torment to end._

_A soft landing is all that keeps Jareth from losing consciousness. He is disoriented, exhausted, and feels as though he will die of thirst. He can hear voices, many of them, but he is not yet ready to open his eyes. He wouldn’t mind the noise, but he can hear laughter and whispers, and it makes him nervous._

_He lays still, trying to make sense of what has just happened. Until this moment, the wrongness of his experiences hadn’t occurred to him. He hadn’t been able to think properly, relying only on his instincts to survive. He takes several deep breaths, calming himself, thinking back to the time just before his world had turned upside down._

_It’s too much to process, so he represses it, keeping only his anger at his brother at the forefront of his thoughts. He needs to get up. He needs to find Osanna and convince her not to marry Gerald._

_He opens his eyes and wishes instantly that he’d kept them closed._

_The enormous pillows surrounding him account for the soft landing, but they are not the first thing he notices. The first thing is that he is the center of attention at what appears to be a faire of some type. Dozens of people in beautiful and unusual clothing are gawking at him. Most wear smiles, but some have screwed their faces into cruel expressions of disapproval. A few are leaning toward their companions, whispering in their ears. It is a rude awakening, made all the ruder when he discovers he is undressed._

_It is a nightmare come true. No one comes to his rescue. They simply stand and watch. Those with goblets take an occasional drink._

_He reaches for a pillow and uses it to cover himself, but this only elicits an explosion of laughter from the crowd. Frantically, he looks for a way out._

_The room is enormous and unlike any room he has ever seen. It is crowded with furniture, draperies, and low-hung chandeliers. There are people everywhere, and he cannot see past them to find a door or alcove where he might hide._

_He tries to stand but can’t seem to find solid ground under the pillows. He has only a moment to wonder how deep they are._

_“Enough! That’s enough!” a loud voice calls. The owner of the voice claps twice, trying to get the attention of the group._

_The laughter slowly dies away, and the gawkers begin to disperse. He does not see where they go, only that they wander away and eventually disappear, leaving only a short, red-haired man behind._

_The man, ruddy in complexion, seats himself at a table near the pillows and pours himself a glass of what appears to be wine, then he turns and looks hard at Jareth._

_Jareth, seeing the wine, runs his dry tongue around his mouth, searching for moisture._

_“Well, that was quite a row, wasn’t it, my love?” the man says. Jareth struggles for a moment to place the unusual accent before realizing the man is from Hibernia. Had he somehow travelled all the way to Hibernia? How is such a thing possible? And how had he known about his argument with Gerald?_

_“Please, sir,” Jareth croaks, his throat too dry to speak easily. “May I have something to drink?”_

_“Oh!” the man exclaims. “Of course! Of course!” His movements are quick and sharp as he pours another goblet of wine and stands to hand it to Jareth._

_Jareth adjusts the pillows to better cover himself before he reaches for the goblet. He can feel himself blushing with humiliation. The red-haired man is dressed with eccentric flair, his bright red tunic going all the way to his knees, but Jareth can tell the fabrics comprising his outlandish clothing are of the finest quality. His clothes do not suit Jareth’s taste, but he would do anything to have a set of them now._

_“Shame will do you no good here,” the man explains, nodding at Jareth’s pillow and taking another sip of his wine. He settles himself back into the chair and Jareth knows the man will not offer him anything more practical with which to cover himself._

_Jareth takes a long drink of the wine, the painful dryness of his throat overwhelming his judgment. As he quenches his thirst, his mind turns to other matters. He has too many questions, so he starts with the most basic. “Who are you?” he asks._

_The red-haired man’s eyes sparkle. “You may call me Warrin,” he answers. “I’ll be helping you on your journey.”_

_“My journey?”_

_“Ah, yes, beloved. You have such a long way to go.”_

_“Where am I going?” It feels like the wrong question; he’s not even sure where he is._

_“Your kingdom, my love!”_

_The terms of endearment grate against Jareth’s ears, but he is enticed by the idea of his own kingdom._

_“My kingdom?” he asks, hesitantly, unsure that he heard correctly._

_Warrin laughs heartily. “Truly!” he reassures Jareth._

_“I have no kingdom,” Jareth answers, perplexed_

_“Do not be angry; I overheard your conversation. Your brother - Gerald, I believe - stepped into our circle…”_

_Jareth gasps, understanding immediately the implications, and Warrin seizes the opportunity to explain._

_“Oh, dearest boy! Did you not know? You are among the Fair Folk!” Seeing Jareth’s shocked expression, Warrin quickly continues. “I am no goblin, but your brother stepped into the boundary and made a wish. He interrupted our dance.” Warrin pouts petulantly. “I could have taken him instead, but I think you will serve my purposes better. I believe you and I have a common goal.”_

_Jareth looks at the goblet in his hand, fearing he may have damned himself by partaking of the wine. “Goal?” Truly frightened now, Jareth has no desire to anger the Fae man._

_“Drink up! Drink up! It won’t hurt you!” Warrin assures him before answering the question. “The goblins your brother mentioned. They need a caretaker. They’re quite innocent things, really.”_

_“With deepest respect, sir, caring for goblins has never been a goal of mine.”_

_Warrin laughs heartily, then stifles himself. “Apologies, my love. Of course you never considered it, but remember, I heard your argument. Your brother will inherit your father’s estate, yes?”_

_Jareth nods._

_Warrin shakes his head sadly. “So unfair. Heartless, really,” he mutters. He continues, returning his focus back to Jareth, “I’m offering you greater power than your brother has ever imagined.”_

_This sparks Jareth’s interest. “What do you mean ‘power?’”_

_“Your brother may be a lord, but you will be a king!” Warrin declares triumphantly._

_“How is such a thing possible?” Jareth asks, awed and unable to believe the offer is genuine._

_“Magic, my love… there is so much to learn.”_

_“I don’t know anything about being a king,” Jareth warns him._

_“Then it’s best we begin right away.” Warrin’s face is triumphant, almost hungry. “But first, you need a new name.”_

 

Sarah’s body, warm and comfortable, rebels at the idea of waking, but her brain is becoming active and insists she get up. She’s been having vivid dreams in which she runs, flies, and swims and in which she is simultaneously a lowly insect and the highest royalty. As her head clears, the dreams recede, only to be replaced by memories that make her head hurt and fight her sense of self.

 _Who am I?_ Her mind recalls a name she has heard only once before. Instinct screams at her to suppress it and keep it hidden. Her awakening mind fights against this name, insisting that it is not who she is. Half-remembered feelings and sensations tumble against each other in her head, senseless and upsetting.

She sits up and rubs her temples, noticing the blanket that covers her only as it falls from her chest, revealing bare skin. The fabric, a shade somewhere between lavender and silver, is surprisingly thin. She thinks to herself that something that thin shouldn’t be so warm. It seems to have seen quite a lot of use, too. The edges are irregular, as if they’d been torn. But as she inspects it, she realizes that it is part of its design. Through the haze in her brain, she slowly realizes that this isn’t a blanket at all, but rather an odd piece of clothing. The wide fabric by her feet narrows to a collar given structure by what appears to be ivory or bone. _Cloak_ , her mind supplies.

In that moment, It all comes rushing back: the desperation she felt as a salmon, the independence as an osprey, generosity as a White Oak, diligence as an ant, and her loneliness as a doe. But, before any of that, she was a young woman venturing out into the world on her own. And before she was a young woman, she was a girl on the verge of womanhood, challenged by a powerful man wearing a cloak.

_The Goblin King._

She had been clinging to her childhood, unwilling to move on and allow Toby to take his place as the baby of the family. Jareth had forced her to come to terms with growing up. Running his Labyrinth had taught her about friendship, loyalty, and courage. He was still a confusing figure in her mind: frightening yet compelling.

She remembers the desperation in his eyes as he pleaded with her to stay with him. By that time, she had been immune to his tricks, but he had been so very convincing and his face had haunted her since. 

She pushes the cloak aside, untangling it from her legs, and begins investigating her surroundings.

She sits on a narrow bed in a small, stone room lit by both a small fire in a fireplace on the far wall and the sun as it struggles to stream through a slit of a window next to the bed. A tall armoire leans at an odd angle against the opposite wall, and a small table below the tiny window holds only a chamberstick containing the remains of a single white candle.

The cloak falls to the straw-stuffed mattress as she rises from the bed to peek out the window. She gasps in shock at the sight of the Labyrinth spread out before her as far as she can see. She knows where she is: the Castle Beyond the Goblin City.

Baffled, she stumbles away from the window. How had she gotten here? She had made no wish! Her presence in the castle defies everything she knows about this place.

“Awake, I see.”

She recognizes the voice instantly and spins around to face its source. Though he stands shorter than she remembers, Jareth is just as imposing as he has ever been. The clothes he wears are darker than those he wore last time she’d seen him. His billowy shirt is jet black and open nearly to his navel and the dark trousers and boots he wears are just as snug as she remembers. She has a moment of déjà vu as he smiles at her and cocks his head to one side.

“Send me back,” she demands. The words feel thick and awkward in her mouth and come out accented and slurred. She wonders how long it’s been since she’s spoken. 

He crosses his arms across his chest and lifts a gloved hand to tap his index finger against his lips as if he is deep in thought.

“Jareth, send me back,” she repeats. Though her words are clearer this time, her voice betrays some of the desperation she feels.

He sets one foot directly in front of the other as he slowly crosses the room to the window, and gazes out over the Labyrinth for a long moment.

“I am not your adversary this time, Sarah.”

“I don’t know what that means, and I don’t care,” she quickly responds. She isn’t interested in games or puzzles. “Send me back.”

“You should care.” He turns to face her as he continues, his odd eyes boring into hers. “There is much you need to understand before you can go back. And I warn you, it will take you a long time to learn it all.”

Of course, Sarah thinks. Last time she had come to his Labyrinth, she had embraced growing up. She wonders what’s in store for her this time, and just how many hours she’ll have to do it.

She raises her chin defiantly. “What do I need to do? I found my way here last time. Do I need to get back out again?” She remembers Hoggle telling her it wasn’t possible and it seems like the sort of thing Jareth would force her to do.

“In a manner of speaking,” he answers.

Confused, scared, and angry, her temper snaps. 

“Cut the esoteric crap, Jareth. Why the hell did you bring me here?”

Mistake.

His face burns with the same intensity she’d seen in the tunnels three years earlier. _Let’s see how you deal with this little slice._ Sarah steps back.

“Why did _I_ bring you _here_?” His voice is icy. “I brought you here because you appeared in my throne room unconscious, unannounced, and undressed.” 

At this, Sarah glances down and realizes for the first time that she is not wearing anything. She finds, to her surprise, that she does not care. 

He continues, “If that is where you’d like to be returned, that can be arranged.”

Sarah raises her voice, a startling contrast to Jareth’s cold anger. “You took me from my home, Jareth.” She emphasizes each word as she repeats, “Take me back.”

His eyes narrow. “I have taken many from your world, Sarah,” he begins. “Mothers and fathers, unable to care for their children, have called on me to remove their burden. I have taken the unwanted, the used, the abused, and the mad. I’ve taken the fair daughters of petty, jealous women too selfish to care for their own blood. I have taken the sons of the highest kings who hoped to preserve their pathetic illusion of power.” He approaches her slowly. “And one day, I took the brother of a spoiled girl who could not be bothered to spare a moment to comfort him. I’ve taken too many to count and far too many to remember.” He leans over her almost as if he means to kiss her. “But I did not take you. Do you know why?” He is so close now that she can feel the heat radiating from his body. He whispers into her ear, “ _Because you are not good enough to be here._ ”

Sarah tries and fails to hold back a small gasp. He hates her. She hadn’t expected that.

“Take you back?” he continues in a nonchalant tone as he pulls away from her slightly. She sees the smallest of smiles cross his face as if he is enjoying her reaction. “I would love nothing more. But I did not bring you here.” He takes two steps away from her. “Take yourself back,” he finishes as he fades away.

A small whimper escapes Sarah when he is gone, and she fights to hold back the tears that threaten to fall. The heat of the room is stifling, and the walls feel as if they are closing in on her. She needs to get out.

Without thought, she grabs the cloak from the bed, throws open the door, and runs from the room. She takes every left turn and goes down every set of stairs she finds. The castle is every bit as much a maze as the Labyrinth itself. She prays she doesn’t run into anyone (or anything), but her luck doesn’t hold for very long.

At the bottom of the fifth set of stairs, three goblins are holding a fourth over a balcony. Sarah freezes, but it’s too late. They’ve heard her. A total of seven eyes turn toward her and one of the goblins happily shouts, “It’s the lady! Hello lady!” They all begin to wave, dropping their comrade in the process. He also waves as he falls to the floor below, laughing all the way down. Sarah screams in horror and runs the opposite direction, down a flight of stairs and through the left-hand corridor.

She doesn’t know whether she should be relieved or frustrated that there are no puzzles and no dead-ends. She isn’t sure if she is getting closer to the exit or if she is only going deeper into the castle. Soon, she settles on frustration, and as it grows, she begins to curse. She curses Jareth and his refusal to help her. She curses his castle, his goblins, and his wardrobe. She curses the day she picked up his lousy book. She curses whatever impulse made her wish him into her life in the first place. But she doesn’t think about what he said in the room above. It hurts too much, and she doesn’t want to think about why.

She turns a corner and finds it looks familiar. When she realizes she’s been here before, four years earlier when she’d rescued Toby, she begins to run. She skids to a stop when she hears voices. Not just talking, but laughing and singing. As she reaches another corner, she slows to peek around. There are goblins everywhere. She takes a moment to look around for any tools or weapons before remembering the cloak in her hand and swinging it over her shoulders. It has no hood, so she tucks her hair underneath, then pulls the collar close to hide her face.

She skirts around the room, staying close to the wall, but the room is littered with muck and she is loath to get any on her skin. The entire castle could use a good scrubbing, but this room in particular is filthy. Barrels of beer line one wall and goblins are lined up to get cups of it. As they totter away from the barrels, they spill their drinks, and kick chicken feathers, chicken bones, and live chickens out of their way. Straw has been spread across the floor, but it doesn’t seem to serve any useful purpose. Goblins hang from the walls and ceilings, shouting and laughing at each other as they swing, fall, and climb up again to start over. It’s as if every pratfall is the funniest thing they have ever seen. In other circumstances, she may have found them amusing, but she is desperate to leave. The large doorway stands on far end of the room, teasing her with its proximity. She is so close.

She comes upon several goblins standing in a knot between herself and the door. She pauses and looks for a way around them, hoping they don’t notice her. One particularly observant goblin, however, does, and he surprises her by saying quite loudly, “Lady want through?” As he asks, he shoves his friends out of the way, toppling a couple of them over. They scramble over each other, eager to move out of her way. Sarah presses her back to the wall and sidles past, but they only look at her happily.

“Bye lady!” one shouts as she makes a break for the door.

The relief of being outside the stone walls of the castle is immediate. The clean air refreshes her, but she immediately finds herself faced with a new challenge: what to do next.

She is slightly ashamed at how long it takes her to think of Hoggle. He knows the Labyrinth well and might be able to tell her how to get home. She remembers his warning, _even if you reach the center, you’ll never get out again_. Remembering how Hoggle worked outside the Labyrinth tending the flowers that grew along the outer wall, she feels despair begin to swell, but she will not let it overwhelm her. There is only one way to finish an impossible task: one step at a time.

“C’mon feet,” she says to herself.

 

It takes Sarah a while to notice the lack of any real obstacles. The Goblin City had been peaceful and the Junk Yard had been silent. She keeps her eyes peeled for movement, expecting Jareth’s subjects to bar her way at any moment. Despite his demand for her to leave, she doesn’t believe he’ll make it easy. On the rare occasions when she sees someone, they are either moving away from her, or they simply move out of her way and wait for her to pass. Their eyes, when they have them, watch her closely, seemingly fascinated by her presence. It’s unnerving.

Her toes grip the dusty ground, feeling for any hint of a trapdoor that will drop her into an oubliette. She wouldn’t put it past Jareth to convince her she can leave, and then trap her.

She feels a wrench of anxiety in her stomach as she thinks of all the ways he might keep her here. The worst part, though, is not knowing why. She had defeated his Labyrinth, fulfilling her part of their bargain and should have been free to live her life without his interference.

 _I am not your adversary this time._ What was that supposed to mean? It’s always games and riddles with him. The real problem with him, she thinks, is that she never knows what to expect from him.

The wrench tightens, and she immediately realizes why. She’s ignoring what she knows about him and it’s leading her down the wrong path. The truth is that she’s always known what she was going to get from him. He was everything she’d expected the Goblin King to be.

 _I am exhausted from living up to your expectations of me._ The memory hits her with unexpected force. Why would he be exhausted from being who he was? Unless that wasn’t who he was?

She shakes her head, confused, and her irritation rears up again. Leave it to Jareth to pretend to be someone he’s not, then blame her for being unhappy about it. Besides, he was the one who had kidnapped Toby. Nobody in their right mind would have believed for a second that she’d been serious.

Except… 

Except she knew better, didn’t she? She had been serious. She’d meant it when she’d said those words. Looking back, her problems seemed so minor. So trivial. But in that moment, she’d felt put upon, hurt, and abandoned.

So whose fault was it when he acted on her heartfelt wish? Hers for wishing, or his for doing?

 _His_ , she decides. It wasn’t illegal for her to wish her brother would shut up. Kidnapping was another story. And besides, she’d done the right thing in the end. She’d dropped everything and faced hardships unnumbered. She’d run, and been teased, terrorized, and cheated, and she still hadn’t given up. She’d seen it through and gotten her brother back, fair and square. And if Jareth couldn’t handle that, it really wasn’t her problem.

She looks at the tall trees that form walls around her, then sighs. Apparently, it _is_ her problem.

She wriggles under the cloak in discomfort. The fabric, though soft, irritates her skin and the hard bits of bone that hold up the collar press uncomfortably into her neck and shoulders. _Stupid Jareth_ , she thinks. _Stupid Jareth and his stupid, stupid clothes._

She dwells on this thought. Clothes had never bothered her before. In fact, she had loved to play dress up, wiggling into old-fashioned dresses that made her feel like a princess. 

_Did you know your name means ‘princess?’ That will not do. You are destined for something much greater._

She suppresses the memory with a shudder. _No_ , she thinks. No more dress-up. The thought of such things now makes her anxious. She feels almost claustrophobic thinking of poking buttons, snagging zippers, chafing seams, and constricting fabrics. 

She continues walking and notices the ground becoming softer and springier. Grass, which had been growing only along the edges of the path begins to cover the ground, a welcome relief to her sore feet. Faintly, she hears the sound of rushing water. Realizing her thirst, she picks up her pace, following the sound through the maze of trees, hoping to find a stream or river from which she can drink.

When she comes to the clearing, she stops in her tracks and gasps. It is large, far larger than she expected, and the sound she hears is not a river, but several small waterfalls coming off a steep hillside, each one spilling into its own basin before sliding down into the next. Vivid green vegetation proliferates on the hill and grows right up to the sandy beach that surrounds a large pond. The water is cloudy green and glassy-smooth but for where the lowest waterfall disturbs the stillness.

Eager to be rid of the cloak, she allows it to slide from her shoulders, letting it fall onto the white sand as she approaches the pond. The sand is surprisingly soft on her abused feet, and she relishes the comfort it provides.

Listening closely for the sound of any creatures, she inspects the glassy stillness of the water for any obvious dangers. The sound of frogs surrounds her, and she can see several of the little guys hidden in the vegetation and swimming in the water. She sniffs the air and catches only the damp, vegetal smell of water-loving plants. Sensing no danger, she dips a toe into the pond and stirs the water. From this angle, she can see into its depths and marvels at how far down it goes. She bends and tastes the water. Finding it cool and sweet, she drinks her fill, then wades in, the water too inviting to ignore.

The bottom drops away quickly and she flips onto her back and floats toward the center of the pool, allowing the water to wash away the grime that she has picked up from the castle and Labyrinth. She scrubs her face, rubs her eyes, then runs her fingers through her hair as it floats around her in the clean water. She lifts her head, allowing her body to go vertical, then takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and allows herself to sink.

She drops just a couple feet before the air in her lungs becomes too buoyant to allow her to go any further. She opens her eyes and looks around. The sound of the waterfall on the edge of the pond seems louder under the water, but the jade green water imbues her with a deep sense of peace. In this moment, she feels as if she can stay here forever. She blows the air from her lungs and allows herself to go deeper.

The green water darkens, and the dull roar of the falls becomes more subtle. She closes her eyes and focuses on the feel of the cool water as it caresses her skin. 

The sensation brings back memories of a similar sensation: cool water flowing over sensitive skin as she fights against a swift current, trying to return home. Her brow furrows and she tries to shake off the memory, unwilling to allow herself to think about it. She’s not yet ready to process those memories or figure out what they mean.

She clears her mind and tries to focus once more on just the feeling of the water and the white noise of the falls. She doesn’t know how long she stays there before she realizes she doesn’t feel the need to take a breath. 

The wrongness of the sensation makes her panic. Her eyes fly open and she flails to the surface of the water, fearful that it will no longer be there.

But it is there, and she breaks it with such speed that, when gravity asserts itself, she is pulled back under for just a moment. She bobs in the water, breathing deeply, allowing her heart rate to slow. 

After several minutes, she allows curiosity to get the better of her and dips back down below the surface.

She begins to swim, slowly at first, staying near the surface of the water. But she quickly grows more bold and begins to go deeper, diving down and performing a series of flips and spins. The movement is invigorating, and though it should also feel disorienting, she doesn’t lose her sense of direction, nor do her lungs protest the lack of fresh air.

When she exhausts herself, she perches on a large rock in the deepest part of the pool, just under the waterfall. She watches the play of light from under the roiling water and wonders just how long she can stay under. She’s just beginning to think the answer is “indefinitely” when her stomach rumbles. Apparently air is optional, but food is not.

She pushes off the rock and heads for the surface. As she breaks through, she notices that the sun is much lower in the sky than when she’d last seen it. She curses herself for wasting so much time messing around when she should have been more concerned about food, shelter, or even just getting out of this damned place. She thinks of Hoggle just outside the Labyrinth with longing. He could help, she knows, if she could only get to him.

She swims to shore and walks up the beach. Along the way, she picks up the cloak and begins investigating the vegetation for anything that might be edible. 

Bupkis.

Her stomach growls again.

In a hidden, grassy area next to the beach, Sarah spreads the cloak on the ground and seats herself in the center. She huffs as she settles herself, unhappy that she hasn’t found any food and that she is quickly losing the light. 

“I wish I had some food!” she groans loudly as she throws herself backward to lay across the cloak, arms thrown out to either side. She remembers bedding down to chew cud in similar grassy areas, and though she would have found the thought revolting not too long ago, she now feels wistful, missing the feeling of a full belly.

There is nothing to distract her from the memories that press in on her, and she finds herself fighting against them, trying not to focus on them as she closes her eyes to wait out the night.

She is dozing when she hears tiny scrabbling sounds coming from behind her. She wakes immediately, sitting up and spinning around to see what is coming toward her. She is shocked to find a procession of berries, shelled nuts, and the occasional leafy green vegetable slowly marching toward her in the deepening twilight. She leans closer to get a better look.

Ants.

The little insects drop the food off on the cloak, then march the other direction. She watches them, a look of surprise frozen on her face, as they march away, leaving a small pile of edibles in front of her. She looks at the food, then back at the ants before finally mustering a loud “Thank you!” to them. They give no indication that they hear or understand. A small part of her in the back of her mind reminds her that they wouldn’t. She shakes it off.

She knows she should be wary of any food provided to her - she remembers well what happened last time - but she also remembers the look in Jareth’s eyes just before he disappeared from the castle. She doesn’t believe for a second that a romantic song and dance await her, and if he’d wanted her dead, he probably would have seen to it while she was under the water.

She lifts what appears to be a walnut from the pile and nibbles it. It tastes as it should, though better, maybe, than any walnut she’s had before. She waits several long moments. Nothing. Shrugging, she pops the rest of it in her mouth, then slowly finishes the rest of the food, relishing the sweetness of the berries, the richness of the nuts, and the bitterness of the greens. Though she does not feel full when it is gone, she is no longer hungry.

“You’ll never get out by having others do your work for you.”

Sarah gasps in surprise, but does not stand. She looks over her shoulder to see Jareth standing a few feet away, arms crossed, stance confident. She releases the breath in what she hopes is a more casual manner than she took it in.

“You’re not welcome here,” she says, turning away from him once more. Leave it to Jareth to ruin a perfectly nice evening.

“Bold words, my dear. How was your swim?”

“How long were you watching?” she demands as she stands to face him, angry at the violation of her privacy.

“Watching? Do you think I have nothing better to do than watch you?”

She glares. He hadn’t answered her question.

“Your hair is wet,” he offers, by way of explanation.

“So it is.” _Obviously_ , she doesn’t add. 

“Your stories say it’s dangerous to eat the food of the Fae.”

 _Crap._ He _had_ been watching.

“If you wanted me dead, you could have killed me already.”

“You’re not worried about being trapped?”

“It didn’t trap me last time. Why would it trap me now?”

Neither of them speaks and Sarah resents his ability to stare her down without a hint of awkwardness. She knows she isn’t doing half so well.

“What do you want, Jareth?” she asks, finally cracking.

“I want you gone-” Jareth begins.

Sarah is quick to jump in. “Then just send me back!” she shouts, exasperated.

Jareth doesn’t pause at her interruption. “-Just as much as you want to be gone. I can help you, but there are rules that you need to understand first.”

He can help? She is momentarily dumbstruck. Why would he help her? Why _now_?

“Tell me,” he says when she doesn’t speak. “Did you notice anything unusual during your swim?”

She wonders if this is a trick. “Not unless you count not needing to breathe.”

He smirks at her. “Do you know why you didn’t need to breathe?”

She shakes her head.

“How much do you recall from the last several days?”

In truth, the last several days are a jumble. So much so that she isn’t sure if she should measure that time in just days, weeks, or even months. It’s strange to be able to remember the experiences so clearly, but have no sense of the amount of time that passed. She would have expected it to feel like a dream, but nothing has ever felt more real to her.

When she doesn’t answer, he changes his question. “What is your last memory of being human?”

Her eyes widen. “Do you mean my last memory before all the,” she waves her hand erratically, “stuff happened?”

“Not necessarily. Your last memory before waking in my castle.”

“Wait wait wait, Jareth,” she says as his question takes on new significance. “Are you saying I’m not human?” She knows she’s smiling, but she is not amused. She can feel the hysteria trying to bubble up from her stomach and her breath begins to come faster, like she’s running and can’t quite get enough air.

In the blink of an eye, he is in front of her, taking her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes. “Stay with me, Sarah,” he says. “You’re not hurt. Stay with me.” She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the way his eyes look, one pupil larger than the other, but she finds his gaze strangely grounding. She maintains eye contact with him, and focuses on slowing her breathing.

“Jareth?” she asks when she feels capable of speaking. “What happened to me?” Her lower lip trembles, and to her shame, tears begin to fall. He is so near and it has been so long since she’s touched anyone. She takes the single step necessary to close the distance between them and bury her face against his chest. She is mortified at her reaction, yet can’t seem to stop herself as the tears come faster and she sobs.

She is surprised that he doesn’t push her away, and though she hadn’t expected him to put his arms around her, she is hurt when his hands drop from her shoulders and remain at his side. 

She immediately pulls away, turning from him to brush the tears from her cheeks and swallow the pain, trying to get her emotions under control. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know what came over me.” 

This isn’t true. She knows exactly what came over her, and the anger coming to a slow simmer inside her is beginning to feel very righteous. She has been taken from her home, put through something intensely unnatural, and is now trapped with a man who hates her.

“This should not have happened to you,” he begins to explain. “I can’t tell who did it, but I do know what happened.”

Sarah looks at him over her shoulder, one tear slipping down her cheek. She knows it’s futile to try to stop them.

“There is an old story about a man who is transformed into several animals before being caught as a fish, cooked, eaten, and reborn. Mortals tell it as a fairy tale, but it is rooted in truth. It has happened before.”

Sarah shudders at the word “eaten.” Surely that’s not what had happened to her.

“Reborn as what?” she asks.

“In the story, he is reborn as human, but in reality, he was reborn as Fae.”

“Is that what happened to me? I’m a fairy now?” Even in her current state, she can appreciate how ridiculous she sounds.

“Not a fairy, no.” He seems slightly amused. “But you’re on the right track.”

“I don’t feel any different.”

“Look closer.” 

She looks down at herself and it registers that she is standing nude in front of the King of the Goblins. Again. It should bother her, but she doesn’t feel any shame or embarrassment. Also, there was her experience in the pond, which strikes her as significantly more important.

“Ok, so maybe slightly different,” she mumbles.

“There’s more,” he continues.

“Of course there is,” she sighs, trying to hide her anxiety about the situation.

“There is a magical aura surrounding you that very few who live Underground would fail to notice.” He stops there, seeming to focus at the space just around her.

“What does that mean?” she prompts.

“It indicates that you are meant for something important.” He pauses here again, as if hesitant to continue. It feels wrong to see him so unsure. “You can go home again - go Above - but first, you must develop and hone your powers as a Fae. Once you have done that, you must accept the crown of the Goblin Queen. Only then will you have the ability to transport yourself Above.”

The air stills as she processes what he’s just told her. 

_Goblin Queen._

“Is this your idea of a joke?” she asks. Her voice is quiet, but her anger is finally bubbling to the surface. “You kidnap me, torture me, and then dangle the hope of going home in front of me only to say that I have to be _your queen_ if I ever want to see my family again?” The words grow louder, falling from her tongue without thought. “Let me guess, you need a wife - no, you need an _heir_ \- and you figure I’m just the girl for the job. It’s sick. You’re _sick_ if you think I’m going to do it.”

“I did not bring you here,” he denies, his eyes darkening.

“‘I didn’t bring you here.’” she imitates his words in a high, nasally voice that sounds nothing at all like him. “No? You’ll just take advantage of the fact that someone did? Well, I’m not falling for it. You don’t want me here? You hate me so much? Fine. Send me back. I know you can do it; you did it before. If you won’t, then just go away.”

He doesn’t move.

“Go away!” she shouts. “Leave me alone!” Her fingers itch to strike him, but she doesn’t dare.

She lowers her voice. “Oh, that’s right. Your kingdom, your rules, right? Well, if you won’t leave, I will.” She turns on her heel and walks away.

“And don’t bother follo-” she begins to shout over her shoulder, but he is no longer there. She looks around the clearing, but there is no sign of him. His cloak lays on the ground where he stood only a moment earlier. She picks it up and shakes it out. Taking another long look around to ensure he is really gone, she begins searching for a more secluded spot to bed down for the night.

 

The streets of the small town Sarah calls home are empty. It is late, and as Jareth understands these things; small towns don’t have much nightlife. He wanders the streets, listening to the click of his boots on the pavement, hoping to drown out his thoughts. Old memories are surfacing that he’d prefer to keep repressed.

He pauses to study the picture of the smiling girl in the “Missing” poster. He suspects it was taken just a few weeks before her transformation. She looks happy. Healthy. The poster itself has seen better days, and he wonders how long ago it was posted.

Continuing his walk, he wonders how one girl can be so irritating. It’s been years, and she still takes so much for granted! Had she learned nothing during her run?

Even so, he regrets what he said to her in the castle. For a moment, he had let himself believe that she was the same as every other wisher he’d come across. Selfish, loathsome excuses for human beings. She wasn’t the same as them, not at all. She’d accepted responsibility for her actions, and she had persevered. She was among many who had agreed to run, among a handful of runners who had reached the castle in time, and the only one who had given up her dreams in order to save the child. She had made a lasting impression on him. He may have kept her dreams, but he had been generous and allowed her to continue visiting with the friends she had made in his Labyrinth. No one could say he hadn’t been fair.

He knows, though he will never admit it, that what really aggravates him is that he does not have the power to send her home. There is higher magic at work here, something beyond even his abilities, that blocks him from helping her cross the barrier. It has been an age since he found something he simply can’t do, and recalling how it feels to be powerless is uncomfortable. 

What he can do, however, is help her come into her power. The faster she learns, the sooner she’ll be out of his hair. 

And yet, there is dishonesty in that plan. He wonders if he should tell her about this. He has already mentioned that it will take a long time, but it is difficult to say exactly how long, and time itself is difficult to track Underground. What if knowing discourages her from ever starting? The truth is, if she starts now, and dedicates every waking moment to taking on the role of Goblin Queen, she’ll be lucky to return home before her younger brother dies of old age. 

He’s in an impossible position. Whether he helps her or not, he’s stuck with her.

 _She’s stuck with me._ The thought chafes.

He remembers her rejection of him as they stood in the wreckage of his castle years ago, and he feels his irritation rise. He had offered her everything, and she had denied him. Oh, he knows that he was only playing a part, but the knowledge that it was only a ruse has never been comforting. He has told himself since then that she only rejected him because she refused to sacrifice her baby brother - he can respect that - but now she’s done it again, reopening the wound to his pride.

He thinks he should leave her to her own devices, let her stay in her little pool and become a frog queen. He smiles at the mental image of her crouched near the pond, her legs green and misshapen into those of the frogs she swims with.

 _She hasn’t even got her croak to keep her warm._ The old saying makes him chuckle, but he wonders how their attitudes toward clothing can be so different. He’s spent too much time at the soiree to be shocked or even bothered by her nakedness, and the denizens of the Labyrinth certainly will not care, but he had expected her to react like he’d reacted when he’d discovered his nakedness upon arriving Underground. He’d been eager, anxious even, to clothe himself properly, to prove his place among the Fae, but Sarah doesn’t seem to care in the least that she’s uncovered. He remembers her playing in the park, tough cotton trousers hidden under long dresses, and how she had lifted those dresses to run as quickly as her legs would take her, no thought whatsoever about what onlookers might think. Perhaps her attitude wasn’t so unexpected.

The thought of Sarah as a frog queen ceases to be amusing. She had been a beautiful child, and the years have only made her more graceful. He had never entertained the idea of having a queen, but if he had to choose…

He stops the thought before it is fully formed, telling himself that he is content with the way things are, ignoring the thoughts that murmur disagreement.

She’s there, in the Labyrinth, and he feels a strange compulsion to ensure her comfort, even her happiness. The memory of her crying into his chest makes his arms ache. How he had wanted to wrap them around her and reassure her that she would be all right. The thought makes him reel, so he tamps down on it, refusing to consider it.

The posters bearing her picture are everywhere. Dozens of black-and-white Sarahs smiling at him from every vertical surface. He stops at one and pulls it down, studying her photograph once more. It seems her family has put a lot of effort into finding her, and for the first time, he wonders if his own family had done anything similar to find him.

It’s a strange thought to have so many years later, and for the first time, he wonders how they reacted when he disappeared. Each time he has taken an unwanted child, he has left only the wisher with the knowledge that the child ever existed. He had always assumed that had been the case when he had been taken. Seeing these posters makes him question that assumption. 

He crumples the poster and squeezes the paper in his fist. When he opens his hand again, it is no longer there. He knows no one will miss it.

His walk ends at the girl’s house. Though it is dark outside, they have not drawn the blinds and he can see Sarah’s family seated in the living room. They have visitors. Two men dressed in blue uniforms sit with them, their hats in their hands. Though he cannot hear what they say, he sees the stepmother's face crumple as she begins to cry. The father stares at the floor, stone-faced, showing no emotion. The little brother - Toby, he remembers - stands in the doorway, eyes large, cuddling a stuffed bear.

The sight thrills him as he imagines his own family in a similar tableau. The feeling lasts only a moment. None of these people had wished Sarah away, and they had neither their dreams to console them, nor the relief of having their memories of her removed. This situation, he realizes, is unjust.

He can bring them comfort. He can erase Sarah’s existence. He studies them, finding the correct threads to pull, but stops himself. 

This is wrong. 

The family would find relief in ignorance, but it sickens him to think of Sarah working to return to people who don’t know she exists. In all his years as the Goblin King, he has ensured that only the wishers suffer. This case is something entirely new. No matter which course of action he takes, someone innocent will be hurt.

He cannot make it right. It is beyond his means and beyond his authority. But he knows a place where Sarah might find some answers. Once she has those answers, he believes, she may be more amenable to accepting his help.

The look on her face as she screamed at him to leave has not faded from his memory. The girl needs space and time to come to terms with what has happened to her. His presence only seems to agitate her. He will give her that space and make his offer when he believes she is able to accept the help.

He takes another look at the family. The men in uniforms are standing now, readying to leave. He takes a few steps back from the home, transforms into an owl and takes flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acknowledgments:  
> "She hasn’t even got her croak to keep her warm," is a quote from _Good Faeries, Bad Faeries_ by Brian Froud. It can be found on the page dedicated to the Frog Queen, who is also his intellectual property.


	3. Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, Labyrinth fandom!

_It is hot. Jareth raises his arm to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead before reaching for another shrub and placing it into the hole he has dug. He’s nearly done with the planting stage. Once these shrubs begin to grow, he’ll be able to magically expand them to make the area larger._

_This bit of earth has changed quite a bit. When he arrived, it was nothing more than a dusty patch of ground where scrubby plants struggled to find purchase. It took a lot of walking and exploring, but Jareth found what he needed to begin building his grand vision. The earth he has turned and irrigated from a nearby stream has become rich enough to sustain the hedges that will comprise the majority of his Labyrinth. He has also collected edible plants he has found in his exploration of the area and created a small garden near the hut he constructed when he first arrived. The work has been long and difficult, and he is immensely proud of what he has accomplished._

_He thinks forward to the next stage. He’ll need to quarry some stone to lay down the pathway. Luckily, stone is plentiful in this area. One good slab should suffice, but hauling it back to the hedge maze will be a challenge._

_He is thinking over a plan for moving the stone when he feels the pull. Relief and anticipation unfurl in his stomach. Even if he had the option to resist, he wouldn’t. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to being alone for such long stretches of time. The lack of company has been trying, and he looks forward to seeing others for the first time in what feels like an eternity. At this point, he’d be pleased even to see the people who had surrounded him when he’d first arrived Underground._

_He is somewhat disappointed to find himself transported into a room empty of people but for Warrin. Warrin sits casually in a lush chair, but does not offer Jareth a seat. In fact, there is no seat to be offered._

_“A hedge maze?” Warrin asks without preamble._

_“A classic,” Jareth responds somewhat defensively._

_Warrin sighs, seemingly bored. “I had such high hopes for you.”_

_“Many labyrinths are made solely from hedges. Mine will be the grandest.” Pride fills Jareth’s voice as he describes his vision._

_“Jareth, my love, you are destined to be the Goblin King! You’ll need far more than hedges.” He waves a hand toward Jareth as if the short conversation has tired him. “Go back and try again. And this time, use some imagination.”_

_Jareth bows his head to show he understands and will do as Warrin commands. The thought of returning to that patch of earth without having spoken to anyone else, though, causes anxiety to bubble in his gut. He can’t leave without at least asking for the opportunity to visit the Soirée, if only for a short time. His mouth waters at the idea of food, wine, and conversation._

_“Warrin, if it pleases you, I’d like to go to the ballroom.”_

_Warrin sits up straighter, suddenly interested. He looks Jareth over with obvious distaste._

_“Dressed like that? No, dear boy, I think not. What would the others say? You must begin acting like a king! When you can dress according to your station, you may go to the ballroom.” Warrin stands and walks toward the door and Jareth knows that he is going to the same party from which Jareth has just been barred._

_Jareth looks down at the handmade garments for which, until this moment, he had felt such pride. He thinks of how relieved he had been to find the flax and how hard he had worked to create the cloth he used to make the tunic and leg coverings he now wears. They are rudimentary, he knows, nothing like the fine clothes he wore when he was human, but he had never been trained to do this work. His only experience with making cloth was watching the villagers when he was training to become his brother’s bailiff. He had never expected to actually make the stuff. “How should I do that?” he asks. “I have no tailor and no fine cloth.”_

_Warrin smiles as he opens the door. “My dear boy, if I have to tell you, you’ll never learn.” And with that, he steps through, sending Jareth back to the small garden he calls a labyrinth._

 

Sarah doesn’t understand much about Jareth, but she thinks she now understands why he wears boots. The ground in many parts of the Labyrinth, especially rough stone or dry, rocky earth, is unpleasant to walk on. Her feet, soft and sensitive in the beginning, have toughened, allowing her to traverse even the roughest terrain with little difficulty. However, she still appreciates clean, soft earth under her feet, and the ground in this part of the forest is especially lovely. The loamy soil is covered with springy moss that puts a bounce in Sarah's walk. 

The forest is dark under the canopy, but sunlight manages to peek through, dappling the undergrowth with narrow beams of light. Sarah reaches out a hand, believing for a moment that she might be able to catch the light in her palm. She imagines it pooling and spilling through her fingers like honey, but her hand passes through the sunbeam and all she feels is the warmth of the sun’s rays on her skin. She smiles at the fanciful thought and continues walking.

She isn’t sure how many days she’s been exploring the Labyrinth. With nothing to write on or with, she’s lost count. And yet, she doesn’t feel frustrated with the journey. The Labyrinth has so many unique and beautiful places to visit and explore. She finds a new place to bed down each evening, and when she feels hungry, something is always provided for her. Occasionally, food is brought to her on the backs of small animals or insects, but more frequently, she finds a fruit tree or berry bush. She recognizes the edible greens that grow in different parts of the Labyrinth, and she thinks she might eventually be willing to try her hand at fishing. She believes that if she really wanted meat, it would be provided for her, but she hasn’t quite mustered the courage to ask. She thinks of the worm she met during her first run and is wary of any Labyrinth creature becoming her dinner.

She sometimes wonders about Jareth. During her first run, he seemed to pop up everywhere, but he hasn’t reappeared since that first day at the waterfalls. Perhaps he’s respecting her wish to leave her alone, or maybe he just can’t stand the sight of her. She’s not sure. She tells herself she doesn’t care, but she’s been having dreams that challenge that idea. 

There is one that recurs often. They’re in the Labyrinth, off the path, but in an open glade. She is naked, her head cradled in the crook of his arm, while he is fully dressed in a silky shirt, tight breeches, boots, and gloves, his free hand playing over her body. She allows him to do this, encouraging him in quiet whispers, relishing the feel of soft leather as his hand glides over her most sensitive skin. Though they are in the open air, she does not feel exposed. The strength of his arms around her makes her feel safe. Secure. 

Loved.

She feels uneasy when she wakes from these dreams. The first time, she shook off the feeling and continued on her way, but the second time, she decided to take action. In an attempt to give herself the security she had felt in her dream, she fashions a short sarong from fabric torn from Jareth’s cloak. Though the knot on her hip that secures the garment irritates her, she finds the makeshift skirt endlessly practical. Her arms are free, and she no longer needs to spread anything on the ground to protect her delicate skin when she sits or lays down at night. 

But the sarong fails to keep the dreams away, and the images of Jareth she occasionally stumbles across in her waking hours seem to mock her efforts. She always stops to study these odd portraits and sculptures of the Labyrinth’s king. They’re everywhere, hidden in trees, rock walls, and pathways. It’s amazing to her, the way they seem to appear only when viewed at certain angles. In each one, he wears the same imperious expression, seemingly watching and judging her.

The Labyrinth is teeming with life, but she hasn’t yet met anyone who is able to talk with her. She thinks most of the creatures are intelligent, and they seem to understand her, but they don’t answer back when she questions them. She wonders if the problem isn’t that they’re not communicating, but that she can’t understand them. She thinks often about Ludo, Hoggle, and Sir Didymus, missing them every day, hoping to find them around every corner. She doesn’t miss Jareth - not at all - but she does wish she had someone to talk to. She has realized since her accident that, despite being a loner all through high school, she was never meant to be alone.

She hums a sad tune as she walks. The melody is from a pop song she knew before her transformation, and though she remembers the words, she chooses not to use them. The song has a simple, haunting melody that she can’t seem to shake. She realized, when the song first popped into her head, that it was the song that was playing just before her accident.

She gradually becomes aware that the woods have joined her song. The wind through the leaves of the trees adds a wistful susurrus to the background of the song while the creaking and snapping of their limbs provides percussion. Enjoying the effect, she opens her mouth to sing louder.

Slowly, several dryads emerge from their trees. Sarah watches in wonder as they come toward her, singing in harmony with her. She senses no animosity from them, and does not feel threatened. They form a circle around her as they sing her sad song, but they carry with them a look of mischief and Sarah wonders with anticipation what they’re planning. They continue singing, but they begin to increase the tempo of their song, and, as it increases, they begin leaping and spinning, changing the song from a dirge to a celebration.

Sarah marvels at the dryads. Every one of them appears to be female, their mossy-green skin the same color as the bark of the trees from which they emerged. She admires the leaves and flowers with which they have decorated their bodies. They toss their long hair about as they dance in their circle, and through their hair, Sarah can see joyful and curious expressions on their angular faces. They join hands, two dryads reaching out to Sarah to include her as well. She feels her loneliness melt away as she joins them, taking their hands and dancing while singing their song.

The dance is a simple one. She remembers playing similar games when she was a little girl, joining hands with her playmates and running in a circle while singing a nursery rhyme. At the end of the rhyme, she would simply fall, laughing, to the ground. This dance is faster, the steps slightly more intricate. She follows the lead of the dryads, holding tightly to their hands, careful not to fall down as she had when she was a child.

A baritone counterpoint rings out in the air and Sarah marvels at the beauty of it for a moment before realizing where it came from. Jareth stands outside the circle, watching intently as Sarah dances. She stops singing the moment she spots him, and as she stops, so too does the music that fills the forest. The dryads vanish, surprising Sarah, who suddenly feels her loneliness even more keenly than she had before their appearance.

Despite the disappearance of her new friends, she is excited by the dance and the song and eager to learn more about how it happened. “Did you see that?” she asks Jareth, her eyes wide and sparkling.

“Indeed,” he responds. “Well done.”

She isn’t sure whether he is sincere or not, but decides not to let him bother her. It’s been ages since she’s really spoken to anyone, and she isn’t particularly eager for him to leave. “Well done? What did I do?”

He begins walking slowly in an arc around her, his eyes on the ground. “Like it or not, the creatures of the Labyrinth will one day be your subjects. They are eager to know you. It is not necessary for them to _like_ you, but it helps.” He stops walking and gestures at the trees surrounding them. “You have made allies today.”

“Is that why they disappeared? They don’t like you?” She doesn’t mean it as an insult, and even if she had, Jareth doesn’t seem like the type to be bothered that someone doesn’t like him.

There is a quiet tittering from the nearby trees, giving Sarah the distinct impression that the dryads like him quite well.

“As I said, it doesn’t matter.” he answers smugly. “However, I believe they left to give us some privacy. We have important matters to discuss.”

Sarah gives him a brief nod, and together, they begin walking down the forest path.

“I will not answer your questions…” he begins.

Sarah lets out a loud, exasperated sigh, “Then why…?”

“...Yet,” he finishes, raising his voice to quiet her protests. “Because I don’t think you’ll believe what I say. But there are some people,” he hesitates on the word, “who may convince you.”

“They can help me get home?” she asks, her heart leaping.

“They may provide the answers you’re looking for.”

She doesn’t like that answer. It seems he will not budge in his refusal to help her return Above. But if there’s someone else she can ask… For the first time in weeks - possibly months - she feels hope.

“With your permission, I can transport you to the Soirée.”

“We’re going to a party?” Her eyes light up, but when he sighs at the question, obviously irritated, she bites her lip, slightly embarrassed at her own eagerness.

“Of sorts,” he answers. “You’ve been there before.”

Sarah thinks back on her time in the Labyrinth. She’d know if she’d been to a party and opens her mouth to argue the point.

He stops her before she can start. “The first time you were here.”

Her jaw snaps shut with a click. He must be joking. With a smile half-formed on her face, she asks, “The crystal ballroom? That was real?”

She could swear that Jareth gained a little more color, and she wouldn’t blame him. He had tried to seduce her in that dream, and he had failed. If all those people were real, she must have humiliated him.

Her train of thought abruptly changes directions. 

“Geeze, Jareth! Those guys are your friends?” She doesn’t try to hide her disgust. Those people were awful! They were the ones she needed answers from? Suddenly, this doesn’t seem like a good idea.

He laughs, and to her surprise, the sound is more pleasant than she expected. “No,” he says. “They aren’t. And they aren’t who you need to speak to, either. You need to speak to the hosts.”

“How well do you know them?” She can’t help but be curious about what sorts of relationships he has here.

“Well enough,” he answers.

“Whoa, slow down there, Jareth,” she says sarcastically. “I can’t handle so much information all at once.” 

He’s still smiling, so she’s pretty sure she hasn’t offended him this time. “Warrin is a sort of mentor to me. Elga is his wife. Together, they host the Fae Soirée.”

“‘Fae Soirée?’” she asks, incredulous. “Is that its official name?” _Silly_ , she thinks.

Jareth only raises an eyebrow in response. So much for not offending. She changes the subject.

“A mentor, huh? What did he mentor you in?”

“Kingdom building,” he answers, spreading his arms wide to indicate the world around them.

It takes Sarah a moment to understand the scope of his gesture. “Whoa… you built all of this?” she asks, genuinely impressed.

“Of course. How do you think I became King?”

“Um… the normal way.” Sarah’s voice raises at the end of her statement, making it sound like a question. How else does someone become a king?

Jareth looks at her shrewdly. “Still taking so much for granted. Tell me, Sarah, what else about this place seems normal to you?”

“Point taken,” Sarah concedes, leaning away from him, but refusing to step back. “Wait, so… do I have to build a kingdom? Jareth, I don’t have time for that! I’m supposed to be at school right now! I have a roommate!” She hopes her last argument doesn’t sound as silly to Jareth as it does to her.

“Let me take you to the Soirée. Warrin will answer your questions.”

Sarah takes a deep breath. She is torn between her desire for both company and answers and her apprehension about revisiting the crystal ballroom. At this point, she doesn’t think she’ll get answers from Jareth. If she wants them, she’ll need to ask this Warrin person.

“OK,” she sighs. “When does this Soirée thing happen?”

“Forever,” he replies. “The Fae Soirée never ends.”

She is taken aback by that. A party that never ends sounds nightmarish. “Geeze… don’t they get bored?” She might be lonely, but even she doesn’t want to be stuck at a never-ending party.

“The guests come and go, and Warrin and Elga find ways to entertain themselves.”

“Well, I suppose that’s kind of the point of a party,” Sarah thinks out loud. “In that case, let’s go now.”

“There is one more matter we should discuss before we go.”

Sarah raises her eyebrows, indicating he should get on with it.

“Your clothing.”

Of course. She looks down at her makeshift skirt. It’s not exactly formal wear.

“Clothing is optional in certain parts of the Soirée…” Sarah, scoffs in disgust at this. She’s read enough old and unsanitized fairy tales to know what Jareth is hinting at. Jareth ignores her and continues, “but you will want to be dressed when you arrive. You will give the wrong impression otherwise.”

“And what impression is that, exactly?” She wants to be angry about this, but also wants to know exactly how angry to be.

“Clothing indicates position and status. The better dressed you are, the more powerful the others will perceive you to be.” Jareth explains. “You may wander the Labyrinth as you please, and you will be shown the same deference regardless of what you choose to wear. At the Soirée, you will want the protection of your rank.”

“I haven’t agreed to any rank.”

“No.” Jareth purses his lips as if he’s eaten something sour. He seems to consider this before continuing. “Sarah, I am offering you an advantage. I urge you to take it.”

“And what do you expect in return?” She remembers how this works. There is always some kind of trick or bargain.

“In return, my kingdom will be spared the humiliation of a serious social faux pas.” She’s reminded of her first time in the ballroom, using a chair to smash a mirror. She wonders how badly that hurt his kingdom’s standing. Still, she refuses to blame herself. She hadn’t asked to be there. His fault; not hers.

Sarah huffs, irritated that his request seems so reasonable, before realizing that she’s not quite sure what he’s offering.

“So… what do you want to do?”

“Allow me to dress you.”

Sarah grimaces and draws breath between her teeth. “That sounds so weird.”

He does not reply.

“Will it be the same dress as last time?” she worries.

 

It isn’t the same dress, but Sarah finds she isn’t any more comfortable in this new one. Instead of silver, the dress is the color of rich cream. Over a light linen shift, soft silk hugs her breasts, and skims the rest of her body on its way to the floor. Layers of chiffon are gathered along the empire waist draping over the silk and adding a hint of fullness to the skirt. Beads of gold decorate the bodice and encrust the cap sleeves. It’s beautiful, of course - she finds it unlikely that Jareth would dress her in anything less - but the golden accents are chafing her skin, and the neat little silk slippers on her feet make her feel disconnected from the earth, a sensation she finds distinctly uncomfortable. She curls her toes, hoping for some purchase on the marble floor of the ballroom, and finding none. The only bit of comfort she finds in this getup is the hair decoration Jareth has provided. Her hair has been cleaned, brushed until it shines, and the back has been left to hang in loose waves. The front of her hair has been tied loosely at the back of her head, and a single gardenia has been tucked into the knot. She can smell it when she turns her head and the clean, floral scent calms her.

The ballroom is much as she remembers it, white tablecloths, large mirrors, and dozens of chandeliers dripping with crystals and pearls. The people are still dressed in splendid clothing, but they no longer wear the grotesque masks from her dream. A thick crowd of people dance to a classical tune played by an unseen string quartet. Near the dancers, there is a wide depression in the floor containing dozens of large pillows. A few people lounge on the pillows, eating and drinking, but when she notices a few writhing bodies within the pit, she averts her eyes.

To her shame and embarrassment, she looks to Jareth for support, much as she did her first time to this ball. She has taken his arm, and holds fast to it, afraid he may disappear and leave her to find her own way through the crowd. She has the distinct impression that she is being watched, but as her eyes scan the room, no one makes eye contact with her. It’s as if they look away just as she looks toward them. Though she is immensely uncomfortable, she is glad Jareth offered to dress her, and glad that she allowed him to do it. The dress acts as a kind of armor against the uncaring revelers. A group of them burst into laughter just as they pass.

“Are they laughing at us?” Sarah asks under her breath.

“No,” Jareth replies, a little too curtly to be true.

“Just me, then?”

“Just a little further,” he says. It’s not a denial. He places his free hand on the hand she uses to grip his arm, and she is grateful for the contact.

They seem to be heading for a tall, narrow door on the far side of the ballroom, but they are stopped just as they reach their destination by a short, red-headed man who appears to be dressed as Henry VIII. He has a wide smile on his ruddy face and his voice booms as he says, “Welcome! Welcome! I’m so glad you could join us! Welcome!” He places one of his hands on Sarah’s lower back as he ushers them through the doorway. It makes her skin crawl.

Once inside the room, the man ushers Sarah to a single, rather ostentatious, golden chair in the center and encourages her to sit. She does, reluctantly releasing Jareth’s arm. The room is strangely free of decoration. Simple white walls are unadorned, leaving the chair, the two doors on either end of the room, and the intricately woven red and gold carpet as the room’s only interesting features.

The man waves a hand and conjures an identical gold chair near Sarah’s for himself and settles into it before folding his hands in his lap and asking, “So! What brings you here this evening, my loves?” It is then that Sarah notices his thick brogue.

Sarah can’t seem to find her tongue, and after a moment, Jareth speaks for her. “Sarah has some questions. She’d like answers.” He has moved to stand behind her, putting her between himself and the red-haired man. She wonders why the man hadn’t offered Jareth a chair as well.

The man’s eyebrows raise as if he’s surprised and he leans quickly toward Sarah in anticipation of these questions. “Sarah, hmm?” He glances up at Jareth, then back at Sarah before adding conspiratorially, “I think we all know your name isn’t really ‘Sarah.’ Out with it then, dearest. What are you called now?”

The name glows hotly in her memory, but warning bells are ringing and Sarah dares not say it out loud. This man is handsome despite the red cast to his face, but there is something about him that strikes her as dangerous. 

“I am called Sarah,” she says levelly, refusing to be intimidated or taken advantage of by him. She looks him boldly in the eye, confident that she isn’t lying to him. “What do you like to be called?” 

The man laughs jovially. “Well trained, this one!” he shouts at Jareth, as if he had something to do with her answer. “I am called Warrin, my love, and I know Jareth has told you all about me.”

Sarah feels uncomfortable with Warrin’s assumption and begins to correct him when the door on the opposite side of the room opens. A woman stands in the doorway, tall, slender, and regal. She is wearing a white chiton held together with gold fastenings along her shoulders. Though her clothing is simple, she is dripping with ornate, gold jewelry. It decorates her hair, ears, neck, arms, hands, and ankles. She stands at roughly the same height as Sarah, and also has long, dark hair, but this woman wears her hair in tight Botticelli curls and has intense ice-blue eyes that are narrowed with anger.

“You,” she says, snapping her fingers and pointing at Sarah. “Come with me.” The woman leaves the room, and Sarah feels compelled to follow. She glances at Jareth as she rises from her chair and catches the darkening expression that crosses his face. He does not move to follow her as she crosses the room and passes through the doorway.

The woman is several yards ahead of Sarah, walking briskly down a long hallway, and Sarah rushes to catch up. The woman stops at a door, pushes it open and waits for Sarah to enter before following her into the room, closing the door behind her.

Sarah takes a moment to appreciate the beauty of the white and gold room. Beautiful paintings of verdant landscapes cover the walls and delicate vases fill the mantle over a large fireplace. Three white couches dominate the center of the room and the woman drapes herself across one, indicating Sarah should do the same.

“That man will do nothing but lie to you,” she says irritably, and Sarah notices that she speaks with the same thick brogue as the red-haired man. Moreover, she recognizes the voice. She’s heard it once before, but she had not been able to see from whom it came. She settles herself on one of the couches, keeping her back straight and her feet on the floor.

“Who are you?” Sarah asks, and there is a bit of awe in her voice. The woman is intimidating and Sarah knows it would be best not to anger her.

“I am Elga. I brought you here, I transformed you into your current form, and I have a job for you.”

Sarah didn’t know what to expect from this woman, but her candor catches Sarah off-guard, leaving her speechless.

“Mm. Eloquent. You are as bright as I expected.” Elga seems put out. “It’s a shame it had to be you. I would have chosen someone a little more intelligent, I think. Sadly, you were marked for this the moment you defeated Jareth’s Labyrinth.”

Sarah hadn’t known what to expect from this woman, but brazen insults certainly hadn’t been on on the list, and her anger quickly begins to rise.

Elga sighs, and the sound is almost happy… satisfied. “There is something about women who defeat him that he just finds… irresistible. Dearest daughter,” Elga continues, giving Sarah a lascivious look. “Play your cards right and you will be a lucky girl indeed.” 

Outraged by the implication that she would have anything to do with Jareth, much less enjoy it, Sarah finally finds her tongue. “I’m not your daughter! And I need to go home!”

Elga leans back on her couch, the very picture of serenity. “That can be arranged. You just need to perform a little task for me first.”

“A task?”

Elga groans and mutters to herself, “Of all the girls Above...” In a louder voice she explains, “A task. A job. An assignment. A responsibility, if you will.”

“I’m not stupid,” Sarah protests.

“No? My apologies. If you would be so kind as to stop behaving as if you are.”

“I don’t even know you!” Sarah shouts as she rises from the couch. “How dare you talk to me like…” but she is unable to finish her sentence. The air has been squeezed from her lungs and she cannot move.

“Behave yourself, girl. You are my daughter and I have named you. I can do anything with you that I like.” Elga continues laying across her couch with a contemplative look on her face. “Please me, and you can have everything you want. In fact, I have already arranged a seat of tremendous power for you. Payment for your cooperation. You need only accept it and you can return home. And all I ask in return is just a little of your time.”

Elga sits up and leans toward Sarah. “It’s a generous offer, I assure you. You should know that I could place you in a furnace instead. Watch as your lovely skin blackens and falls off your bones. I could bury you in the deepest, narrowest oubliette and keep you there for centuries without air, food, water, or company. I could torture you until you agree to do what I ask. You won’t die, not until I wish it. For I have named you and you are mine. 

“What shall it be, then? The easy way? Or the hard way?”

Sarah feels the pressure around her ribs release and takes a deep breath, her eyes filling with tears of both pain and sorrow.

“Why me?” she asks pitifully.

“Please do not blame me for your situation,” Elga says, her words deceptively kind. “I would have chosen nearly anyone else. You are here because of Jareth’s interest in you. My husband wishes to give him a wife and hopes she will bear him children. When Warrin saw how Jareth treated you on your run, well...”

Sarah reels at this, her suspicions confirmed. Elga seems to find her reaction amusing. “Don’t be offended!” she laughs. “There are far worse things than being the consort of King Jareth.” She settles herself back against the couch once more. “But it is not your fate to be a broodmare. Love him or hate him, you will not bear a child while I live. When I am gone, you may do as you like with him or anyone.”

Sarah feels some small measure of relief, but is quickly overwhelmed by anxiety. “Your husband? Is he the High King?” Jareth had said Warrin was his mentor. Who else would take such an interest?

“King?” Elga says, seemingly delighted by the idea. “I suppose some may call him such.” She thinks on it for a moment. “Yes, a Red King, though he has no kingdom over which to rule. He takes his pleasure in controlling people… which brings me back to why you are here.

“All of the great mistakes in history have happened for love. I have made my own mistakes, and I pay for them now. I was young and made a vow to my husband. He was my heart, my pulse, and I thought I would love him forever. Love is too foolish an emotion to have such power.”

Elga pauses in her story. “‘Forever is a length of time you cannot begin to comprehend. Perhaps after several thousand years, you will have formed some semblance of an idea of the length of time comprising ‘forever.’” Her voice is bitter. “He has my name and I have his. It was a romantic idea, to be tied together the way we are, but it has become hell, each of us having just enough control over the other to make us both miserable. I had hoped trapping us here would make him grow as tired of the world as I am, but he has found ways to entertain himself and his reach extends further than I ever thought possible. However, I have learned well from him, and when I knew of his plans for you, I ensured I got to you first.

“Think. Do you remember what I said to you before your final transformation?” Elga’s excitement is palpable.

“I think so…” Sarah starts, her voice barely audible to her own ears. “You said I hold the key…” she stops and thinks. “You want to be released!” Sarah exclaims. _Released from what?_

“Remember…” Elga sits up and leans forward, urging her.

“The door slammed and there was shouting. What did you say?”

Elga’s expression becomes angry. “Remember what I said to you. You have all of the information you need to end this now. Do this and I will send you home today!”

“Just tell me again. I can do this!” Sarah pleads, eager at this point to do whatever it is Elga is demanding, just for the chance to go home.

“I cannot tell you again; he has forbidden it. You must remember.” She feels the compulsion to answer, but there is nothing new to remember.

“Well, dear daughter,” Elga leans back into the couch, dissatisfied. “It looks as though you’ll be with us for some time.”

 

Sarah finds Jareth has not moved from the bland and empty room as she makes her way back to the Soirée. When she enters the room, Jareth is alone, and there are no chairs. She can’t seem to get her feet to move quickly and she slowly shuffles to him.

“I’d like to leave now,” she says, almost a whisper.

There is no feeling of dislocation as the world spins and she finds herself back in the small room in Jareth’s castle. Jareth is close, but does not touch her. She turns away from him and heads for the door.

“Stay.” The word is an offer, not a command.

She stills at the threshold, but does not turn to look at him. “Why?”

When he does not answer her, she turns to face him, changing her question. “Why did you take me there, Jareth? Why parade me in front of those awful people? Why did you let me go alone with… that woman?” She can say the name, but finds it easier not to. Even so, as she gets to the end of her question, her voice breaks and she tries to blink back the tears before they can fall.

“You wanted answers and you would not accept them from me.”

“That’s not entirely true, though, is it?” Sarah demands. Jareth looks genuinely puzzled and Sarah finds the expression at odds with what she knows of the man. “She told me, Jareth. She told me about your infatuation.” She spits the word. “It’s sick, you know. I was fifteen!” She feels better able to control the tears when she begins shouting, allowing her anger to overwhelm her feelings of frustration, grief, and humiliation.

Jareth’s face darkens and he stands taller, attempting to tower over her as he did when she was younger. “I do not need to justify myself to you.”

“You didn’t get what you wanted, so your buddy decides to wrap me up like a gift and just hand me to you. Were you in on it? Did you think it was funny?” She’s on a tear and she knows there will be no stopping her until she’s said her peace. She doesn’t allow Jareth a chance to answer or defend himself. “That woman is horrible, but if what she said is true, she saved me from Warrin. From _you_. You have no power over me,” she says, refusing to back down even as Jareth’s eyes flash in anger, “Because of _her_.”

Sarah turns to leave and Jareth does not stop her. She can no longer keep the tears at bay after she leaves him. She finds her way easily out of the castle this time and once she has abandoned its filthy corridors and made her way into the cool night air, she kicks off the slippers and sighs in relief as she comes into contact with the earth. As she walks through the Goblin City, she runs her fingers through her hair, loosening the knot, and letting the flower fall to the ground.

She brushes the tears from her face and wishes she was back in the forest with the dryads. She knows the way; the path is clear in her head. Suddenly, the world spins, and she’s there. The shock of her unintentional transportation stops the tears. Just as when Jareth transported her, there is no feeling of disorientation, but she turns around, trying to take in the change of location and reassure her disbelieving eyes that she has done it.

The forest is dark and quiet but for the chirping of crickets, and the dryads are nowhere to be seen. She would give anything for a kind word and a hug. She thinks of gentle Ludo and her heart aches. She leaves the path and hides herself in the forest’s undergrowth.

She can no longer ignore the irritation of the gold beading on the dress. She reaches behind herself to undo the long line of buttons that run along her spine. To her dismay, she finds she can’t reach, and she bursts into fresh tears of frustration, loneliness, and grief.

A small noise grabs her attention and she quickly looks up. A dryad, small and lithe, slowly approaches, her face both serious and cautious. She doesn’t speak, but reaches a hand toward Sarah as she circles around, indicating her offer of help. Sarah holds still and feels the dress loosen as the buttons are undone. She slips the dress from her shoulders and steps out of it. Still desiring the protection provided by clothing, she leaves the shift on. The little dryad bends to pick up the dress and places it over her arm. She bows and begins walking away. 

Sarah watches her retreat, and just before she is out of view, she remembers her manners and raises her voice to say, “Thank you.” The dryad looks over her shoulder, smiles, and nods.

Sarah understands in that moment, hidden in the undergrowth, that she isn’t really alone. She wonders if that’s why Jareth holes himself up in the castle. It may be crawling with goblins, but there are doors he can use to shut them out. The Labyrinth is filled with creatures, and she isn’t sure if she’ll ever know if she is truly by herself. Even now, the trees surrounding her are aware of her presence. In this moment, though, the thought is comforting. 

She curls up in the grass between the roots of a tree, taking comfort in the feel of its sturdy trunk against her back, and tries to sleep.

 

Raindrops fall around Jareth as he wanders the streets of Sarah’s hometown, but they do not manage to touch him. There are more posters up bearing a new photograph of Sarah, this time in color. He suspects the whole community has joined in the search for her, and he wonders how far out the posters have been displayed. He pulls one off a brick wall, looks at the picture briefly before letting it fall to the wet pavement. They won’t make a lick of difference; she won’t be found.

He knew the moment Elga ordered Sarah out of the room who had orchestrated this plot. Sarah’s angry words reverberate in his head. Warrin had said nothing about a plan to make Sarah the Goblin Queen, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t made such plans. He had never known Elga to lie, and he suspects that she told Sarah the truth, and in probably the cruelest manner possible. The woman may be truthful, but she is as mean as a viper, and he had feared for Sarah as she’d left the room with her.

He could imagine Elga finding out about Warrin’s plan and doing anything to keep Warrin from getting what he wanted. The rift between the two is legendary, and they constantly find new ways to escalate their conflict. He also knows Sarah was not far off in describing herself as a gift, though the word makes the relationship between Warrin and himself sound much friendlier than it actually is. Bringing Sarah Underground is exactly the sort of thing Warrin would do, and he’d do it just to watch her struggle. Watching Jareth react to the reappearance of the one runner who had ever bested him would be a bonus. But Elga had stepped in, gotten to Sarah first, and ensured that Warrin held no power over her. Now Elga and Warrin could continue their battle against each other using Sarah and Jareth as pawns. The thought sickens him.

He grudgingly admits to himself that he isn’t entirely blameless. He hadn’t needed to take Sarah to the Soirée those years ago. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, a way to torture the irritating dwarf and an attempt to slow Sarah’s progress toward the castle. Her burgeoning womanhood had been an easy target. He knew his own allure; he been cultivating it since boyhood. A romantic song and dance should have been just the thing to waylay her and ensure her defeat. When she had broken the spell, he had been shocked. Impressed, even. 

Infatuated was a bit of a stretch, though. 

Regardless of who actually brought Sarah Underground, they would have had to wait until she was of age and released by her family into the world. She hadn’t been wrong when she’d railed against his attempt to seduce her at the tender age of fifteen - even by the standards of the Fae, she was too young - but her comment about him having no power over her angered him. He had power over any runner in his Labyrinth, but she’d proven she wasn’t the type of person he sought to punish. Her choices as she faced the challenges he put in front of her had redeemed her, freeing her to return Above with her brother. Her victory had been unprecedented.

And perhaps that was another reason Warrin chose her. 

He looks up and is not surprised to find himself standing in front of the Williams home again. There is something that keeps drawing him back here. Unfinished business. Sarah’s family has not been compensated for their sacrifice, and even if he were in a position to pay them, he would not know what to give a family who had lost a beloved child. He rolls a crystal over his arms, across his hands, balances it on three fingertips, and looks into it. As he suspected, their dreams consist solely of Sarah returning home.

There is no light in the window that was once Sarah’s, but a little face peeks out from the living room. Jareth catches the little boy’s eyes and he can hear the child call for his father. Toby points toward Jareth as Robert Williams appears in the window. Robert squints into the darkness beyond their front yard just as Jareth steps into the shadows and disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story.
> 
> Acknowledgments:  
> In addition to _Labyrinth_ , this work is inspired by the Gary Jules cover of the Tears for Fears song "Mad World," a prompt from the Livejournal Labyfic community, and by my friend M. who will probably not read this, but should be acknowledged nonetheless.
> 
> The song Sarah and the Dryads sing is "Mad World" by Tears for Fears.
> 
> This story has been beta'd by Aurora Kemanche and Exulansis, both of whom I'd like to thank for their friendship, time, ideas, and general awesomeness.
> 
> _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


	4. Negotiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! 
> 
> Just a friendly reminder that this fic is rated E.

_Jareth steps into the room and watches as Warrin settles himself into his chair as if he is holding court. Jareth is accustomed to this ritual, and though he is becoming impatient with it, he knows better than to show his irritation. Warrin lives for the dramatic, and Jareth prefers confrontations he isn’t guaranteed to lose._

_“Jareth, my love, your Labyrinth is coming along very well. Very well, indeed!”_

_Jareth bows his head briefly, feeling the glow of pleasure at the praise. Warrin has been difficult to please, but Jareth’s Labyrinth is beautiful and complicated, the result of many years hard work._

_Warrin continues, “But Jareth…” Jareth braces himself. He knew there would be some criticism. “A castle? Isn’t that a little too ostentatious for goblins?”_

_“As King of the Goblins, I deserve a palace. And the Labyrinth deserves a grand finish.” After the grief he’d been given over dressing himself properly, he finds it hard to believe Warrin would want anything less for the Goblin King or his Labyrinth. “The castle will be a beacon over the Great Maze. Runners will be able to see it, but they will not be able to reach it!” Jareth can see the finished castle in his head and has been shaping the quarried stones to match his vision. The work is painstaking and exhausting, but he knows it will be worth the effort._

_“Have you given thought to your book, dearest?” Warrin asks, his tone wheedling._

_A ha._

_Jareth realizes now what Warrin actually wants. He’s bored and eager for mortals to begin running the maze. But before any mortals can be called to the Labyrinth, Jareth must first create a lure. Jareth had decided long ago that his lure will be a book to entice the imagination, sow discontent, and make mortals wish for something more than life had yet granted them._

_Jareth smiles, showing his sharp teeth. “It is an old tale I intend to tell. One of the Goblin King and the dreams he can grant… for only a small price.”_

_Warrin laughs heartily. “Very good, my love! Do not spend too long building this castle of yours. I wish to read your story!”_

_“As you wish,” Jareth assures him. “But first, I find myself desirous of company.” He begins to walk toward the doorway that will take him to the Grand Ballroom._

_He is nearly through the door when Warrin speaks again. “Would your brother be jealous, do you think?”_

_Jareth freezes. He hadn’t thought of Gerald in… he doesn’t know the last time he’d thought of Gerald. Or Osanna._

_“Your kingdom awaits you, King Jareth. And time is passing faster than you think.”_

_Jareth looks back at Warrin sitting in his chair, a smug smile on his ruddy face. What did time matter? He had all the time in the world._

_“It seems as though hardly any has passed at all,” he says pointedly, before turning his back on Warrin and shutting the door behind him._

 

His embrace has become familiar, her head nestled in the crook of his arm, his body pressed against her side. His free hand skims her bare skin, ghosting over her breasts and belly, warming her while paradoxically raising goose bumps. She relishes the feel of his body against her, but his leather and silk keep them separated, when all she wants is to be closer. 

She loves looking into his eyes. She feels she’ll never get tired of their mismatched beauty; one black pupil always more prominent than the other. The windows to the soul, she’s heard, but when she doesn’t try to see to the bottom of their depths, she sees only herself reflected back at her. She wonders if that means she is a part of him. 

The glade is quiet, but she can hear the sounds of insects and birds in the trees around them. The thick foliage of the woods blocks most of the light but for what shines down directly over them. It is almost as if they are spotlighted in the center of the clearing, and though they are in the open, she does not feel exposed or threatened. He is with her, and she knows no harm will befall her. This is his world, and all obey him.

He leans down to take a nipple into his mouth. She feels the scrape of his teeth against her, and then his tongue as he soothes her sensitive skin. She would raise her hands to hold him there, tangling her fingers into his wild hair, but he keeps them pinned to her side. His hold on her is gentle, allowing her the freedom to do as she pleases, but she knows he wants her submission. She gives him this, happy to allow him free reign over her, at least in this moment, and she knows he will reward her handsomely for her obedience.

His hand tugs at her hip, pulling her more tightly against him. She can feel his arousal pressing against her, and she once again wishes for the barrier between them to vanish. This is one wish he never sees fit to grant, always remaining clothed while she lies open and vulnerable to him.

His lips release her nipple and move to her mouth. He kisses her gently, tugging just a little on her bottom lip. She eagerly returns his kiss, hoping to hold him, keep him as bound as he keeps her, but when his free hand moves over her belly and then reaches lower, she releases him to whisper her encouragement. Closing her eyes, she wishes to feel his flesh, but will settle for the feeling of buttery-soft leather as it dips between her legs.

She is unable to hold back a moan as his fingers circle the one place she most wishes he would touch. When she opens her eyes, she finds him studying her face, his expression one of vainglorious satisfaction. He knows what he does to her, and he enjoys teasing her, drawing out her pleasure. She can beg, and he will ensure that she does, but her pleasure will come only at his hands and only when he decides to grant it.

He curls his fingers to enter her, and she experiences a moment of disappointed confusion when she realizes she can no longer feel him. His fingers, his embrace, his body, have vanished, leaving her cold and alone on a soft bed of grass. She looks around the glade, but he is no longer there. 

He is gone, but there is something new… the smell of cooking suffuses her senses. Her mouth waters; it has been ages since she’s eaten anything that’s been cooked. She wakes when her stomach growls, and is shocked when the scent of food doesn’t fade along with her dream. 

“It’s for you,” Jareth says, indicating a large silver breakfast tray on a small, intricately carved table that sits incongruously next to her spot in the tall grass. He leans against a nearby tree, his long, brown jacket blowing slightly in the breeze, facing away from her as if respecting her privacy. She isn’t surprised that he is able to appear noiselessly next to where she has bedded down, but is still irritated by the intrusion. She can feel herself blush, memories of her dream still fresh in her mind. 

Sarah begins to reject the food, but Jareth interrupts her. “Eat, Sarah. You haven’t had a proper meal in months.”

Months. She feels the shock starts in her face and quickly drop to her stomach where it ruthlessly blooms into fear. How could months have passed without her even realizing? She can’t even recall how long it has been since her disastrous trip to the Fae Soirée. Her parents must be worried sick. And what about poor Toby? Before worst case scenarios can begin to tumble through her imagination she forces them into the mental compartment she keeps for things she can do nothing about. She can only deal with here and now if she wants to retain her sanity.

She decides to focus on the food instead. Food she can deal with, and it has been so very long since she’s eaten good food. She creeps up to the table, takes the tray, and settles back into the grass, setting the tray on her lap. 

Eggs over-medium, thick slices of buttered toast, and grapes. She reaches for the toast first, takes a large bite, and holds back a groan as it hits her tongue. She thinks there may be nothing better in the world than salty butter over warm, toasted bread. She dips her toast into the egg, breaking the yolk, and takes another bite. _No_ , she thinks, happy to be proven wrong. _This is better._

“Let’s discuss time,” he says, turning to face her. “It is not easily manipulated. Just as much of it passes Above as passes here.” Sarah looks up at him, eyes wide, wondering what point he is trying to make. “You have a small window of opportunity to return to your home,” he continues, “and I will not watch you waste it. When that window closes, time cannot be reordered, and you must live with the consequences.”

Sarah glowers at him, her mouth too full to respond.

“When you first arrived, I explained to you what you need to do to return home. I did not create the rules, and I cannot change them.” He pauses before adding, “But I can help you.”

“Why?” Sarah asks, her words muffled because of the food she has shoved into her mouth. She swallows and tries again, “Why would you help me?”

“I do not wish to be a pawn in someone else’s game,” he explains.

Sarah’s eyes widen. She understands that he is talking about Warrin and Elga and wonders how either of them would be able to use Jareth as a pawn. He seems too powerful for such a fate. 

“When you harness your powers and accept the crown, you will have the freedom to come and go as you like, travel where you like, and be with whom you like. But coming into your powers is a long and difficult process.”

“How long did it take you?” Sarah asks.

“Longer than it should have,” he says, looking into the distance. “Your experience will be different because you will have a teacher.”

Sarah raises an eyebrow. She noticed he hadn’t answered her question, and she suspects the reason is she wouldn’t like the answer.

“You?” she asks.

“There is no one else.”

She knows that Jareth doesn’t offer anything for free. Even the meal he has served her has given him the opportunity to talk without interruption. Figuring it best to know exactly how she’ll be paying for his help she asks, “What do you want in return?”

Jareth’s expression transforms into one of shrewd contemplation, almost as if he hadn’t expected the question.

“In exchange for my help,” he begins slowly, “you must come live in the castle.”

The thought of stone walls around her makes her feel claustrophobic and she grimaces. 

“It is unacceptable to have the Queen living as a wild thing in the Labyrinth,” Jareth explains.

Sarah quickly takes stock of herself. She’d kept the shift that Jareth had given her, but she has worn it so long that it has torn at the hem and turned a strange shade of brownish grey, despite countless dunkings in the clear streams, ponds, and lakes of the Labyrinth. She raises her hands to her hair and feels the knots in it. She often uses her fingers to untangle it, but the tiny elves who dance through it while she sleeps ensure that it is hopelessly snarled every morning. She truly has gone feral. Still, she’s unsure about living in the filthy and airless castle.

“Can I think about it?” she asks, unsure and hoping he won’t demand an immediate answer.

He nods, and she senses he is about to leave.

“Wait, Jareth! I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“My friends. I’ve been looking for them for… well, I don’t know how long I’ve been looking. I feel like they’re close, but I haven’t seen them.”

“They’re here. You will sense those you’ve met and you’ll be able to transport yourself to anyone you know. Eventually.”

He leaves the “With my help” unspoken. They both know she needs him.

“Think it over,” he finishes, and with that, he fades away.

 

From his perch in the tree outside the Williams home, the view into Sarah’s old room is clear. It is unnaturally clean. He remembers what it looked like before, and he doesn’t think Sarah ever kept it quite as neat as it now sits. The dolls, toys, and posters that had hung on her walls have been removed, but the bedclothes and furniture remain the same. The room has been kept free of dust and the floor has been cleaned. Jareth wonders if Sarah was the one to remove the decorations, or if it had been done after her disappearance.

Sarah’s parents are having a quiet conversation in the kitchen below. He tunes them out, not out of any sense of respect for their privacy, but rather because he doesn’t care about their conversation. When Karen starts shouting, though, he finds he can no longer ignore them.

“Damnit Robert, wake up! This is a good opportunity!”

Jareth’s eyes flash to the kitchen window below. Robert is seated at the table, a cup of coffee before him while Karen stands at the kitchen island, waving a piece of paper in the air.

“I can’t take it, Karen.” he says, his voice tired and resigned. He folds his arms on the table, looking ready to collapse.

Karen’s tone softens. “A change of scenery may be just what this family needs. It’s only for a few months, and you could use the promotion. You’ve been working for this for years.” 

Jareth quickly pieces together the parts of the conversation he had ignored. Sarah’s father has been offered an opportunity for advancement, but he will be required to move to accept it. Jareth looks on, curious.

When Robert does not reply, Karen adds in a pleading tone, “Don’t waste this.”

“We have to be here when she comes back,” he finally replies, lifting his hands to scrub at his eyes with his fingertips.

Karen’s face drains of color. Jareth knows what she will not say, what she dares not say. Karen knows Sarah isn’t coming back. The hopes and ambitions she’s dreamed of for her family are fading before her eyes, and her sense of compassion will not let her do anything about it.

Robert’s arms fold back to the tabletop, and he looks out the window. His expression changes to one of keen interest as he sees the white owl in the tree. As he stands to get a closer look, the owl spreads his wings and takes flight.


	5. Lesson One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a very creative person. Not really. But I think the best tribute we can give to the people who inspire us is to create something positive - anything positive - and share it with the world. This is my contribution today. Love to you on any day you read this.

_As Jareth returns to the room, he finds Warrin is flipping through the last pages of a little leather-bound book. He is growing dissatisfied with the never-ending party. New guests are common, but they rarely provide any new amusements. The same old jokes and stories continue to circulate through the room, and he feels as if he’s heard it all. There are some guests, though, ladies and gentlemen, who still pique his interest, and they spark the last of his enthusiasm for the place._

_“Are these the words?” Warrin asks, pointing to a page. This is what Warrin has been waiting for all these years. The trigger that will call Jareth to the world Above and allow him to grant his first wish._

_Jareth leans in close to see._ I wish the goblins would take you away right now. __

_“They are the ones that called you to take me,” he reminds Warrin._

_“Oh, my love,” Warrin says with a laugh. “I needed no magic words.”_

_Jareth wonders on this. Warrin has been specific in his instructions that Jareth specify the right words a mortal needs to call Jareth Above. What makes Warrin so different from Jareth that he needs no such words?_

_“It’s amusing,” Warrin says, turning his attention back to the book. However, his voice betrays a sense of dissatisfaction. Warrin closes the book and sets it on the arm of his chair. “Your heroine is just the thing to entice young girls to call on you. They’ll be intrigued by the romance of the piece. But it won’t appeal to boys.”_

_Jareth knows this isn’t true. He remembers his own youthful fascination with the Fair Folk. The Goblin King in his story is exactly the kind of king he had wished to be - and to whom he would have been drawn. He knows this argument will not pass muster with Warrin, however. Instead, he argues, “Girls are more likely to be responsible for children. They are the target.”_

_“You’re ignoring half of your audience, Jareth,” Warrin cautions._

_Jareth knows he’s on shaky ground here. He remembers how Warrin had reacted to Jareth’s last flippant comment: the one about time seeming to have hardly passed at all. It took him too long to realize what Warrin had done. Confident in his appearance, and so caught up in building the Labyrinth and in the pleasures of the Soirée, Jareth hadn’t noticed himself aging. Catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror at the Soirée had been a shock. His youthful appearance was gone, replaced by that of a much older man. The guests at the Soirée had noticed and were simply waiting for him to figure it out - Jareth’s punishment their entertainment. He remembers the shy laughter of his companions as he approached the mirror to study his reflection. He was taller, his skin had lost the smoothness of youth, and the angles of his face were more pronounced. He had immediately turned to seek Warrin and demand an explanation. He had found the red-haired man standing just behind him, watching his reaction with obvious relish._

_He had learned two crucial lessons that day. First, Warrin will not tolerate insolence. Second, Warrin is capable of cruelty Jareth had never imagined. Twenty-four years. Warrin had allowed Jareth to age for twenty-four years since that comment, waiting in silence until Jareth himself noticed he had changed._

_The experience had been humbling, and Jareth had learned his lessons well. With the aging process once again arrested, he had had no choice but to embrace his new appearance. Over time, he even came to appreciate his new physique. He had filled out some, remaining slim, but losing the spindly scrawniness of his youth. He adjusted the flowy tunics and loose trousers he was accustomed to wearing to open shirts and form-fitting hose in order to accentuate rather than hide the lean angles of his body. He was becoming renowned for his magical abilities and power, but his physical form hinted at dexterity and stamina. The skillful application of powders and pigments made his eyes appear larger, his lips fuller, lending him an otherworldly, ethereal look the other guests at the Soirée enthusiastically embraced. His popularity among them had grown, and he had delighted in their attention and affection. But he never forgot the lessons learned, fearful of some new retribution of which he might not even be aware._

_And time? He was careful now to always mark it._

_He needs to appease Warrin, he knows, ensure him that he intends to challenge boys as well as girls._

_“Girls will feel a romantic attraction to the Goblin King, but boys will see themselves in his character and want to emulate his behavior.”_

_It’s a stretch, maybe, but not an outright untruth._

_Warrin doesn’t look like he believes it. His expression is one of incredulity, and Jareth knows he’ll need to try a bit harder._

_“Perhaps a Goblin Queen character?” he suggests, grasping at ideas. It isn’t a feasible suggestion. A Goblin Queen would stand in the way of any romance between the protagonist and the devious yet dashing Goblin King._

_Warrin laughs and shakes his head, seemingly amused. He hands the book back to Jareth, and waves him away, signalling that their time is through. Relieved to be dismissed so easily, Jareth does not notice the look of contemplation on Warrin’s face as he transports away._

 

Sarah relishes the feel of the sun-warmed stone against her bare back as she lies on the ledge of the fountain. It’s a beautiful day, warm with a light breeze. She’d covered a lot of ground that morning and had paused at the fountain to wash the dust from her skin and hair. As she allows the warm breeze to dry her, she gazes into the sky watching the clouds pass overhead, one foot dangling in the cool water, and runs her fingers through her hair in an attempt to detangle the locks. Most days, she doesn’t mind the way her hair knots together, but today she wishes it was as smooth and straight as it was when she was human.

She’s amazed at how quickly she’s grown accustomed to the idea of being something other than human, but there are some days when the fact is undeniable. She is now able to flash quickly from one spot in the Labyrinth to another with just a thought, and she checks out the bottom of every body of water she finds in her search for the entrance, sometimes spending hours under the surface. As long as she is able to see, she explores. She wonders if Jareth can show her how to conjure a light to take with her to investigate the darkest depths of the waters of the Labyrinth. She will not be content until she has seen it all. 

Despite her ability to transport to the places she’s found since her arrival, she has had no success transporting to the places she’d seen on her first trip, when she’d been human. Sometimes, especially on still, quiet days, she can focus her mind and feel for the presence of Hoggle, Ludo, and Sir Didymus. They’re here, she can feel them, but there is something disallowing her from going to them. 

Sometimes she contemplates the idea of being “Fae.” She knows Warrin and Elga are Fae, and she knows Jareth is, too. But Jareth seems to be a different sort, and even he seems hesitant to accept the label, as if it isn’t technically wrong, but that it doesn’t quite fit, either. None of her fairy tales had quite prepared her for this experience. 

The sound of footsteps on the path rouses her from her thoughts. The tall hedges surrounding the fountain block her view, but she can tell it’s not Jareth. Jareth has a casual saunter she has learned to recognize. These footsteps are heavy and fast, the space between strides too long to be a goblin. She sits up, curious to see who is coming.

She gasps as she realizes that her visitor is a normal, human boy, tall and lanky. His t-shirt is dirty and there is a hole in one knee of his jeans that she suspects wasn’t there when he began his journey. He looks to be about fifteen or sixteen, just a couple of years younger than she is now, and Sarah can’t believe how delighted she is to see him.

He is looking at some bloody scrapes across his palms as he enters the square, but when he hears Sarah’s gasp, his head jerks up and he notices her for the first time. His face instantly colors, and after a moment of wide-eyed gawping, he averts his eyes to the ground. 

He is stammering an apology when Sarah interrupts him.

“Are you running?”

“Running?” The question seems to have confused him. He looks up at her and then immediately back at his shoes.

“Running the Labyrinth,” she clarifies. She is surprised at how annoyed she is that he had to ask for clarification. What else could she have meant?

“Oh, um…” the boy looks toward the castle in the distance, refusing to meet her eyes. “Yeah. I have to solve the Labyrinth or I’m gonna be in so much trouble.”

Sarah sees the boy’s embarrassment, but doesn’t understand where it’s coming from. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

“You’re, um…” the boy blushes even deeper. “Did you know you’re naked?”

“Oh, sorry! I forgot!” Sarah rises from the ledge of the fountain and reaches for the stained shift she’d left on the ground. As she slips it over her head she asks, “Why would you be in trouble?”

“How do you forget…?” The boy shakes off whatever question he was asking and continues, “Whatever. That freak with the stupid hair kidnapped my brother!”

“Ohhh...,” Sarah says under her breath, understanding now what’s happening. “Yeah, he does that,” she commiserates, wrinkling her nose. She pats herself down, ensuring the shift lies properly. 

“You know about this?” He sounds outraged.

“He kidnapped my little brother once.” Sarah takes a moment to appreciate how bored she sounds.

The boy’s eyes widen in horror. “And you’re still here?!” The kid says a word Sarah wouldn’t have dared utter at his age. “I have to get to that castle,” he says, pointing. “Do you know the way?” He seems put out.

The path to the castle is clear in her head. “Of course,” she answers. 

“Well?” the boy demands.

“Well, what?” Sarah asks, puzzled.

“Why is everything an argument in this place?!” the boy shouts to the sky.

“Have you tried _not_ arguing?” Sarah asks. She smiles, enjoying the exchange. She hasn’t had a chance to talk to anyone but Jareth in ages.

The boy’s eyes narrow. “Can you tell me how to get to the castle or not?”

Sarah sighs, remembering how she had felt when she was in his place, and decides to help him out. After all, the castle isn’t actually that far. Then she can transport back here and continue her search.

She turns to show him the way. “What’s your name?” she asks, knowing she can’t call him “hey you” the whole way to the castle. 

“Andy,” he answers, absently.

The change she feels is shocking and profound and Sarah finds herself spinning to face him. The air around him seems to crackle with electricity, though he shows no sign that he is aware of it. She grabs him by the shoulder and looks into his eyes, realizing that she can see so much more of him than she ever thought it was possible to see. She can read the chemicals coursing through his body. There is his anger at Jareth. Over there, his resentment toward his mother and father and the jealousy he holds toward his little brother. His emotions are familiar to her; they are how she had felt during her own run. But there is one crucial element missing: regret. This boy does not regret what he has done, but there is fear here, and it is growing stronger as she reads him. Fear of being caught? Fear of punishment? She can’t tell. She looks closer and realizes she knows how to control his breath, his heartbeat. All she need do is mentally flick that little switch there and it will be all over. She is overwhelmed by the sensation, and pushes him away, putting her hand to her head to keep herself steady.

“Are you crazy!?” the boy screams at her, but she is too disoriented to answer. He continues cursing her as he runs away from the fountain square. She looks up in time to realize he has chosen the correct path. Knowing what she knows now, she’s not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that she has helped him. On one hand, she wants the wished-away brother to go back to his parents. On the other hand, returning home would not protect him from his older brother. She wonders if Jareth deals with these situations very often.

“Sarah, Sarah, Sarah.” She cringes when she hears him slowly croon her name. She turns her head and sees him walking toward her, his mouth drawn up in amusement. He’s wearing white silk with dark trousers today, rather than the armored breastplate and dark flowing cloak she might have expected with a runner in the Labyrinth. “What _have_ you done?”

Rather than answer him, Sarah asks, “What was that, Jareth? What just happened? I could… I could see…” She doesn’t know how to describe how it felt to have that kind of power over another person. 

“You have his name,” he says, as if it explains anything.

Sarah thinks about this for a long moment before repeating him. “I have his name… like Elga has mine....” She remembers the constriction of her lungs during her meeting with Elga, and shudders. A suddenly realization hits her with unexpected force. “...and Warrin has yours,” she finishes. That is what he meant when he said he didn’t want to be a pawn. Warrin and Elga were controlling them both, possibly using them against each other. 

He doesn’t answer her and she knows she’s guessed correctly. 

She looks down at her feet. They are clean from their dunking in the fountain, but they have grown calloused and tough. She knows that if she were to go back to wearing shoes, they’d eventually soften again. They’d return to the way they were before this all happened.

“How long does it last?”

“Your hold over him? For the rest of his life.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. It’s a truth she has been reluctant to accept: it’s impossible to go back to the way things were. 

Sarah looks hard at Jareth, trying to see him the way she’d seen Andy. There’s nothing. No electricity, no transparency. She cannot sense the chemical trails of his emotions. “Your name isn’t Jareth.” It’s almost an accusation.

“Your name isn’t Sarah,” he replies calmly, quietly. He crosses his arms and looks at her levelly.

No, it isn’t. For the first time, she contemplates that new name, the one seared into her memory. It doesn’t feel like her; she still feels like Sarah. But when she thinks on the new name, she can sense the same control over herself that she’d felt over Andy. Her emotions come as no surprise, but the control over her body is new and she is amazed she hadn’t noticed it before. She had seen into Andy and had understood intuitively how to control his actions, his words, even how to snuff out his life, and was awed that something so critical could be so easily controlled. She can sense those parts of herself as well, but some of her body’s functions have been paused. She isn’t aging, she notices. She pulls the thread that should start the aging process once more, but finds it stops again immediately. She senses the same switch she saw in Andy, the one that will end her life, but she doesn’t have the courage to pull it. Instead, she turns her attention to her reproductive system. It has been halted, but when she tries to get it moving again, it also stops. 

_You will not bear a child while I live._ Elga had told her about this and she had been so caught up in the insults and the insinuations that she hadn’t given it much thought. She had known Elga controlled her, but hadn’t understood the extent of that power.

Suddenly, Sarah is struck by another thought. Jareth had known her name, back when she really was “Sarah.” The memory replays in her head like a movie scene: Jareth dressed in cream and grey, offering her her dreams. More than that, offering himself. Begging. _I will be your slave!_

“Sarah…” Jareth begins.

“No, wait. Shh,” she hushes him, unwilling to derail her train of thought.

To her surprise, he stays quiet.

_You have no power over me!_ She’d said it with such surety. It hadn’t been true though; he’d had the power all along. He hadn’t needed to offer her anything and he hadn’t needed her cooperation. If he’d really wanted to trap her Underground with him, he wouldn’t even have needed Warrin’s help. There is more going on here than she knows, she can see that now. She’s known Jareth for over three years, not counting the time since she returned Underground, and she is only beginning to realize she doesn’t know him at all. 

She can feel him watching her. There is so much she doesn’t understand about this place, so much she needs to understand. It’s time to decide what she really wants. She can continue resisting, finding her own way out of the Labyrinth in the hopes that Hoggle can help her return Above, or she can swallow her pride and allow Jareth to help her. She thinks of her father, her stepmother, and Toby, waiting for her, worrying. She can do this. For them.

“Jareth,” she says finally, meeting his eyes. “Would you please teach me how to do magic?”

 

“You feel trapped.”

Sarah looks around in dismay at the room Jareth has provided her, her skin already itching. It’s the same room in the castle to which he has brought her twice already and she wonders if he considered it hers on that very first day. She knows her discomfort is obvious, but she isn’t about to complain aloud. This was part of the deal: he’ll teach her magic if she lives in the castle. 

“It’ll do,” she answers. “It’s not like it’s an oubliette. I can leave if I want.”

He nods, confirming she is free to come and go as she chooses. He is far more at ease here than she is, and she wonders if she’ll ever feel comfortable in this tiny, stone room.

“This world is ours, Sarah. Watch.”

He lifts his hands and dances a crystal across them. She watches it spin as he deftly balances it on the tips of his fingers, holding it out for her. In its depths, she can see a much larger space. The stone walls are decorated with beautiful, intricate tapestries, the floor is covered with a thick rug in shades of cream, and the slit of a window has been replaced by a series of arched french doors that span the entirety of the exterior wall. The room is large and open, but is dominated by an enormous bed, its many pillows and blankets plush and sumptuous. The cold room is warmed by an enormous fireplace on the wall opposite the bed. It would be the bedroom of her dreams even if she hadn’t spent the last several months sleeping on the ground.

She looks back at Jareth, wondering what will happen next. He takes that cue to toss the crystal in the air and let it fall to the floor between them. She can see a ripple of magic spread from the broken crystal outward, pushing the walls back, and enlarging the window until the room resembles her vision. The breeze and sunlight from the open doors relieve her anxiety, leaving her feeling much as she does when she is in the open air. She grins and laughs as she spins around to look at the changes. The doors on the outer wall stand open and entice her to explore. When she runs through them, she finds herself on a spacious balcony overlooking manicured gardens. 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes, studying the hedge mazes that comprise different sections of the garden. She’s eager to explore them, but holds back. She hadn’t missed his use of the word “ours,” and feels a surge of gratitude not just for the effort to make her comfortable, but for the inclusion as well. 

When she turns back to the room, she sees Jareth leaning against one of the columns between the doors. “Thank you,” she says. “Really.” His only response is a slight curve of his mouth into the barest hint of a smile.

Sarah looks over her shoulder one more time to the gardens before returning to the room. The fireplace from her vision is here, but there are no tapestries and no warm rug. The room still contains only the bed, table, and wardrobe that were here when she arrived. They’re not exactly the furniture of her dreams, but she supposes they’ll do well enough.

She crosses to the old, crooked wardrobe and opens it, only mildly surprised to discover that it is empty. She can’t imagine any reason for him to have kept clothes for her, and yet she can’t deny that she had expected at least something to be in there.

As if reading her mind, Jareth speaks. “If you want clothing, it will have to be made.”

Sarah is somewhat apprehensive about the idea of clothes. The constricting, chaffing garments irritate her, but she can’t deny that they are, on occasion, useful, if only to avoid shocking the runners. If she could get something made out of the soft fabric that Jareth’s silvery cloak had been made from, that would be a good starting point.

She closes the doors to the wardrobe. “Ok… who should I ask? And how do I pay?” Payment will be an issue, she thinks. She has literally nothing - even the shift she wears is technically Jareth’s - and she isn’t at all sure how to go about getting a job.

Jareth laughs, and as her face colors with embarrassment, she knows she has said something ignorant. “You will make them yourself,” he explains. “In fact, from now on, you’ll be doing all your work yourself. You cannot have your subjects do it for you if you ever hope to come into your power. However, for your first task, I will be generous.” He opens the wardrobe, and to Sarah’s surprise, there is a small pile of folded clothing on the bottom shelf.

When he picks them up to hand them to her, she is shocked to recognize the items. They are not pieces she’s seen before, not exactly. They’re modern, typical of the clothing she wore Above: denim jeans, cotton t-shirt, heavy work gloves, and boots. She blushes when she sees he has also provided modern underthings, uncomfortable with the idea that Jareth has thought about the necessity of them.

“You are welcome to keep these, but I urge you to begin making your own clothing soon.”

Sarah has a moment of awkwardness when she realizes she’s too shy to dress in front of him. The irony of it hits her hard and she laughs quietly. She has felt no shame standing nude in front of him or anyone else, but dressing in front of him feels intimate in a way that simply being nude doesn’t.

“Jareth… do you mind…?” She’s not sure what she’s asking. Should she ask him to leave? Turn around? That she’s embarrassed at all feels ridiculous.

Jareth only smirks at her discomfort before turning around, making a gesture, and conjuring an intricately carved wooden dressing screen. Sarah blushes as she takes her new clothes behind the screen to change.

 

Sarah had expected to find the clothes Jareth provided comfortable and familiar, but they feel no better than the cream and gold dress she wore to the Soirée. The t-shirt rubs against her collarbone and the jeans dig into her waist and bunch uncomfortably at the crotch. She adjusts them to ensure they fit properly, but just can’t seem to get comfortable. The boots are a non-starter, and she also ignores the socks Jareth provided. She finds her feet just don’t work properly when covered and she’ll chance going barefoot on whatever project she’ll be working on.

Sarah had discovered that she enjoys the feeling of transporting. There is a sort of exhilaration that leaves her breathless when she finds herself suddenly in a different place. But she doesn’t feel that exhilaration when Jareth transports them both to their destination.

This section of the Labyrinth is old and dilapidated. It holds none of the grandeur, whimsy, or imagination of so many other places she has seen. It is simply a stone wall. It seems to be the same kind of stone that comprises the castle: heavy and gray, but without the sparkling magical residue that seems to coat everything in the Labyrinth. A large section of the wall has fallen, and she can see that the corridor on the other side is also featureless gray block. She inspects the wall and sees that some of the stones broke when they fell, lying in large chunks in the narrow pathway.

Jareth circles her before leaning against a section of wall that hasn’t yet toppled over. “This will be your first task,” he says.

Sarah looks at him, mouth slightly agape, puzzled. “You want me to fix the wall?” The fallen stones have to weigh a couple hundred pounds each. She considers them, thinking she might be able to lift a couple of the smaller broken pieces.

“You have four hours to repair the wall using any means at your disposal. The one thing you cannot do is ask for help.” Something seems to be drawing his attention away from her, and he flips a crystal over the back of his hand to gaze at it for a moment. “I must go. There is a runner in the Labyrinth who needs some motivation.” He gives her a devilish grin and she knows that Andy is about to have a bad time.

“Four hours,” he reminds her ominously as he fades away.

Suddenly, she feels just like she did when she was the runner, facing an impossible task and being watched over by a frightening taskmaster. But, just as she did when she ran the Labyrinth, she takes a deep breath, and gets to work.

She doesn’t know how long she works before laying the last small stone into place. It had been difficult, back-breaking work. She’d begun by removing the loose stones that had been dangling from the wall - no point leaving them if they were only going to fall. She cleaned the stones as best she could with her fingers and a clump of dried grass to remove any dust and debris. Then she began laying the stones, trying to fit them together in the same way they fit in the parts of the wall that still stand strong. She had been shocked to discover that she could lift the large stones. It wasn’t easy by any stretch of the imagination, but it shouldn’t have been possible at all. And yet, she was able to move them, albeit with difficulty, into place on the wall. She started with the largest, arranging them at the bottom of the wall to brace the smaller rocks above. Without mortar, and without the tools with which to apply it, she doesn’t know how long the wall will stay fixed, but she does the best she can.

After the last stone is placed, she sits on the ground and wipes the sweat from her forehead. She expects him to show up at any moment, and take her back to the castle. She wonders if maybe Jareth has a bathtub she could use. She bets he has an incredible bathroom. A man as put-together as Jareth isn’t likely to deny himself some modern conveniences where grooming is concerned. As she fantasizes about relaxing in clean, warm water while being massaged by Jacuzzi jets, she slowly dozes off.

In her dream, she swims in warm, frothy water, a gentle rain falling from above. She turns her face to the sky and enjoys the feel of the misty raindrops as they shower her face. But she’s alone and lonely. She looks through the mist and can see a small figure on the shore. She squints, trying see who it could be, and finally, she recognizes Toby. Elated, she begins swimming toward him, but her joy is short-lived. The rain comes down harder, making him hard to see, and the foamy water turns thick as molasses. She feels herself being pulled back, away from shore, by a nasty undertow. Her arms turn to lead, too heavy to drag her through the jelly-like water. The last thing she sees before she wakes is the figure of her kid brother as he turns from the shore and walks away.

Her heart is in her throat when she blinks herself awake. She looks around herself and notices that the shadows have grown considerably longer during her nap. Upset from her dream, she loses her temper and shouts to the sky, “Damnit, Jareth! You said four hours! Where are you?”

“I said you had four hours to finish and nothing about when I’d be back,” a smooth voice to her right says, causing Sarah to jump and give a startled yelp. Jareth stands not three feet from her, inspecting her work. She glowers at him. “You did well,” he says and Sarah feels a glimmer of pleasure at the praise. “… for a beginner,” he adds after a moment. 

She rolls her eyes. 

“Come,” he says, offering a hand to help her up.

“Is Andy still in the Labyrinth?” she asks as she takes his hand. Once on her feet, she brushes the dust from the back of her jeans. They’d been a lot more useful than she’d anticipated, protecting delicate skin from dust and pebbles, but she was eager to be done with them.

“You tell me,” Jareth responds.

Sarah gives him a confused look before remembering that she has Andy’s name. She should be able to feel him. Jareth merely waits, watching her intently. Unnerved by his attention, she closes her eyes and concentrates on finding the boy.

He is not in the Labyrinth; she can sense that immediately. She opens her mind to other places. Her mind provides her with no pictures of his location, just a beacon beyond an impenetrable barrier. She knows intuitively that he is Above, returned safely to his home. She knows she will always be able to sense him, but that the barrier will prevent her from ever reaching him. The amount of relief she feels at him being out of her reach surprises her. She’s not ready for that kind of power.

“What about the brother?” She does not have his name, and she will not be able to sense him. “Is he still here?”

“In a way.”

Sarah shudders, knowing she doesn’t want to hear more and kicking herself for asking.

Still holding her hand, Jareth transports them to a new section of the Labyrinth. Sarah once again takes in her surroundings and wonders if they could have just walked. It is identical to the last section, right down to the fallen wall.

“He’s happy, Sarah” Jareth says, gently. “All of the wished-aways are.”

They may have changed locations, but they haven’t changed topics. She wonders if this is what Jareth has to tell himself in order to sleep at night. She doesn’t answer and he doesn’t push the subject. She drops his hand.

“Now,” he says, moving on. “I want you to repair this wall.”

Sarah steps back from him, unbelieving. “I just fixed a wall!” She is ready for a bath, food, and sleep, preferably in that order. 

He seems more amused than annoyed by her reaction. He circles behind her and gently takes her by the shoulders, adjusting her stance so she faces the damage. She looks at the mess, her expression petulant, and can see how the large fallen stones will fit back into place and how the smaller stones will fit between the larger ones to balance and stabilize the wall. But she’ll be damned if she’s going to do any more physical labor today.

“You already know how to do this,” Jareth urges her. “Remember your chamber.”

She recalls watching the walls expand and change. Nothing had appeared or disappeared; things had simply shifted.

It’s almost as if she can feel it click in her head, knowing how the stones go together and knowing she has the ability to move them. The stones begin lifting and fitting themselves into the place. The air crackles and sparkles with magical energy and in less than a minute, the wall is repaired and covered in the same glittery sheen as the rest of the Labyrinth.

She is breathless when the last stone fits into place. She hadn’t noticed when Jareth had taken his hands off her shoulders, but she now feels their absence and knows he didn’t help her rebuild the wall. She had done it with magic. Her magic.

“You must do the work manually to understand how to do it magically,” he explains. “You have an advantage that will allow you to learn much faster than I did.”

“Advantage?” Sarah asks, looking for clarification.

“The materials you need are already here.”

Puzzled, she asks, “What was here when you started?”

“Earth, stone, and a few shrubs.”

She looks around her in amazement. This section of the Labyrinth is so plain. It stands in sharp contrast to the other parts that she has now spent so much time in, and it suddenly occurs to her why that is. “So this…” she gestures to the plain stone walls.

“This is the oldest part of the Labyrinth.”

She has so many questions that she’s not sure which to ask first. How did he eat? How did he get the things he needed for the other sections? Where did all the creatures come from? Did he invite them? She doesn’t get a chance to ask any of them.

“You’ve been exploring the Labyrinth for some time now, Sarah, but you haven’t found the way out.”

“Hoggle said it was impossible.”

“Hoghead doesn’t have your abilities. Keep searching, Sarah. Find your way to the entrance of the Labyrinth. You’re closer than you think. You may then begin your first assignment.”

“Which is…?” To her surprise, she’s eager to get started.

“You must build your own Labyrinth.”

Sarah gawps. “I have to what now?”

 

For a long time, Jareth wasn’t sure why he kept returning to the Williams’ house. The sadness that lingers on the property is palpable. Even the neighbors stopped visiting. But Jareth returns frequently, checking in on Sarah’s family. He can’t say he’s ensuring they’re all right - they most certainly aren’t - and there isn’t anything he can do to help them.

He wonders if she’d be happy that he does this. He remembers the look of elation on Sarah’s face when he’d altered her chamber, and the warmth that had suffused him when she’d thanked him so sincerely. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d been thanked for anything; such things simply weren’t done among the Fae. Expressions of gratitude were often interpreted as acknowledgment of an owed favor. He’d have to warn her about that before she interacted with any of the Soirée guests in the future. Still, he thinks he could get used to her appreciation. It makes him want to do more for her, provide more for her. But he knows he should not give in to such temptation. It would hurt her more in the long run than it would help. He may have resented the years of Warrin’s neglect, but they had served to increase his abilities and make him one of the most powerful beings at the Soirée. Sarah needs that power as well, and would not develop it by being coddled. His visits to her home, though, are not about her - not really - and he resolves to keep them to himself.

Most nights at the Williams’ home are quiet. Karen usually lays out a family dinner, and they eat in silence. After dinner, Robert turns on the t.v. while Karen straightens the house, reads to their son, and goes to bed. Tonight isn’t most nights.

Karen’s agitation is noticeable even from Jareth’s perch in the tree. She slams cupboard doors and sets plates on the table with more force than necessary. As they sit down to dinner, she sits rigid in her chair.

Over dinner, she asks the normal questions about Robert’s day, how he’s getting along with certain colleagues, and the progress of some long-term project. Robert’s answers are short, one-worded, and show a distinct lack of interest in the lives of the others at the table. Deep circles under his eyes indicate that he is not sleeping.

Karen eventually gives up on Robert and turns to Toby. The little boy gives enthusiastic responses, eager to talk about the games he played at school and the pet rabbit his teacher keeps in the classroom. As Toby talks about his day, Robert lays his silverware on his plate and puts his face in his hands as if he can’t bear the sound of the child’s chatter. Toby quiets and Karen’s face colors.

She gathers the dishes from the table and asks Toby to go to his room and prepare for bed. Even Jareth can sense the oncoming storm, but if Robert senses it, he doesn’t react.

Karen approaches Robert carefully, pulling her chair closer to where he sits. He rubs his face and looks to the ceiling. Karen asks if he’s alright, if there’s anything she can do to help him. After he insists again and again that he’s fine, Karen blows up. 

“You’re not fine! We can’t go on like this Robert. We have to do something! Toby needs his father!”

Robert does not respond, refusing to even acknowledge that Karen has spoken.

“Talk to me!” she shouts.

Jareth can see that Toby hasn’t gone to his room. He stands outside the kitchen, staring at a display of family photos sitting on a table. A photo of Sarah has been prominently displayed in front of the others.

The boy has grown, Jareth notices. Toby is at least two inches taller than he was when Jareth had first seen him after Sarah’s disappearance.

He watches Toby staring at the picture of his sister, listening to his mother shout her frustration at his unresponsive father. Suddenly, his face screws up, the very picture of loathing.

“I hate you,” he says to the photo, then reaches out and knocks it onto its face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story.
> 
> Acknowledgments:  
> In addition to _Labyrinth_ , this work is inspired by the Gary Jules cover of the song "Mad World," by Tears for Fears, a prompt from the Livejournal Labyfic community, and by my friend M. who will probably not read this, but should be acknowledged nonetheless.
> 
> This story has been beta'd by Aurora Kemanche and Exulansis, both of whom I'd like to thank for their friendship, time, ideas, and general awesomeness.
> 
> _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


	6. The Meantime

_Black holes of what used to be the windows of his childhood home stare down at him from a crumbling facade. This is the place where children would tell ghost stories and dare each other to explore. If there were any children. There aren’t. There is no one for miles. The homes in the village are nothing more than outlines of stone no higher than his knee. Though the old manor house stands in ruins, it withstood the years better than anything else. Even the trees that grew around the house are either gone or rotten skeletons of their former selves._

_He can’t help but think about Gerald as he inspects the ruins of the estate. He remembers the fine plans Gerald had had for himself and the family he had hoped to build. There is no hint as to what calamity had visited the village or the estate, but it seems unlikely that Gerald had seen his plans come to fruition. Jareth feels a thrill of pleasure at the thought. Gerald’s line had ended while Jareth had accomplished so much and held so much power._

_Jareth would never forget the way Warrin had saved him that day by the old tumulus, rescuing him from a life of ignoble servitude. His purpose, he’s decided, is to punish those who take their family for granted. In addition to being the Goblin King, he will be the Master of Dreams, indulging selfish fantasies and transforming them into living nightmares. Naturally, Warrin had been utterly delighted by Jareth’s idea._

_Just as Jareth had predicted, the book had worked well. He had his first wisher just a few years after sending the book Above. The girl had cried and begged to have her sister returned, but she couldn’t complain that he hadn’t given her a fair chance. He’d given her precisely thirteen hours to solve his Labyrinth and save the babe. Had she really cared for her sister, she would have made it. But she had been skittish and weak and preferred to hide from the unknown rather than face it. Jareth had been happy to return the selfish girl back to her home with only her dreams as consolation. Not that she would find solace in them for long. The dreams of young, petulant mortals were petty and changeable. She would indeed catch the eye of the boy she dreamed of, but no one else, and she would eventually find herself quite invisible to everyone but him, a young man with no prospects, no talents, and little intelligence. Hers would be a lonely and unhappy existence. No less than she deserved._

_Jareth had also been quite pleased that he could keep the babe. At least, he had been at first. She was still young, but he believed that as she grew, he would enjoy having someone besides those at the Soirée to talk to. Warrin had failed to tell him what happened to mortals when they lived in the Underground._

_After the little girl had transformed into a goblin while nestled in his arms, a shocking and upsetting sight, even to his jaded eyes, he had immediately confronted Warrin. The red-headed man had informed him, quite dispassionately, that mortals could not live Underground. The magic that flowed through the world would warp and corrupt them moments after they accepted it as their new home. No, the only way a mortal could survive Underground was to be transformed into one of the Fae. And in Jareth’s kingdom, that meant goblins._

_Jareth had found himself dumbstruck at the news. Warrin had never shied away from the use of Jareth’s title. He had, during their very first meeting in fact, said Jareth’s purpose was to be the caretaker of the goblins. “Quite innocent things,” he had called them. Jareth had assumed they would be moved into his kingdom upon its completion, not that he would be responsible for their creation. It had struck him as immensely cruel to be saved from an uncaring family only to be turned into a monster. But, as Warrin was quick to remind him, life itself was cruel, and he was doing a far better thing taking these little goblins under his wing than to leave them with the people who would harm or neglect them. Jareth had left Warrin then, feeling deceived and angry, and returned to the Labyrinth, his kingdom, and his lone subject. He watched over the little goblin, as was his duty, and saw the way she played, saw her joy in music and jokes, and found himself utterly charmed. And so he kept her, and later others, and gave them a home, entertaining them, spoiling them, and ensuring they lived the happiest lives possible._

_His only regret, one that he will lament always, is that he couldn’t have punished Gerald the way he punishes the selfish girls and boys, women and men, who discard their children. And his one consolation, as he looks on the moldering remains of his brother’s dream, is that his own legacy will be stronger and longer lived than Gerald’s ever was._

 

Sarah puts her hands on her hips and huffs in frustration. Jareth had told her that she was close to the entrance, but that was several days of exploration ago, and she has spent yet another morning struggling through a section of the Labyrinth that she has never seen before. The stone here is much like the stone in the section Jareth had her repair during her first magic lesson, and she wonders if it is just as old. She’s been practicing what Jareth showed her that day, repairing small portions of the Labyrinth as she comes across damage, and she notices that it gets a little easier, the end result cleaner and stronger, every time she does it.

Her evenings are now quite different from when she wandered the Labyrinth on her own. She explores until the sun sinks low in the sky, and if she does not find herself near a clear body of water large enough for a swim, she transports herself to the frog pond and allows herself time to bathe and unwind before returning to the confines of the castle. 

The necessity of bathing in the Labyrinth had become apparent on her first night. She had expected Jareth to have a beautiful modern bathroom, one fit for a king, but the castle was positively medieval. She hadn’t been foolish enough to expect electricity, but the lack of indoor plumbing had been a shock, and not just because she longed for a hot bath. Nothing had quite prepared her for the castle’s garderobes with their splintery wooden seats and straight drop to a cesspit far below. 

Her main goal is finding the entrance to the Labyrinth, but once the sun goes down, she resigns herself to learning more domestic tasks, specifically cooking and sewing. Jareth has been insistent that she learn to be independent as quickly as possible. In the meantime, she continues wearing the old shift from the evening at the Soirée, finding it infinitely more comfortable than the jeans and t-shirt Jareth provided, but she knows she needs to make herself some clothes, and soon. 

She’s willing to begin sewing lessons, but when she asked Jareth for some fabric, he had taken her out in the last of the day’s dying light to gather several tall, thin plants he called “flax.” He had shown them to her and then watched her expectantly. Mystified, she had politely reminded him that she was perfectly comfortable wearing nothing at all and that if he really wanted her to make some clothes, perhaps practical jokes weren’t the best method to convince her. Only then did he tell her that he expected her to make the very cloth from which she would make her clothing. Still confused, she gathered several of the stems and made note of the location so she could find them again should she need more. The plants are still in her room waiting for the day she would receive a lesson on how they could possibly be made into fabric. 

She has a more pressing need for food than clothing, and though she has more success with cooking than sewing, it’s still coming along slowly. Controlling the heat of the fire is more difficult to master than she’d imagined, and she still hasn’t been able to pull off the simple eggs-and-toast meal Jareth once provided for her. But he had shown her on her first night in the castle how to conjure the foods that she found during her exploration of the Labyrinth. Since then, she has had some success making a simple soup of those foraged vegetables. Most nights she simply conjures that same soup, too tired and hungry to want to experiment further. She knows she needs to try new things, though. The point of her being in the castle, after all, is to develop her magical skills and she won’t do that by performing the same spell again and again.

Jareth sometimes finds her in her room after she’s bathed and eaten to see what, if anything, she has learned that day. She wonders if he waits until late to avoid any awkward dinner invitations. He’s helpful, almost friendly, in these short meetings, and having someone to talk to is a welcome change from her solitude in the Labyrinth. He never stays long, only a few minutes to see how her skills are coming and offer any advice, and after his third visit, she begins to think he might be lonely, too.

She tries not to think about all the things she needs to learn; it’s far too easy to become overwhelmed by it all, but she finds strength in the idea that Jareth has faced these same obstacles. If he could do it, she can too. She’ll take it one day at a time, learning her skills as they become necessary. 

Sarah turns a corner and is surprised to see a much taller wall of a lighter color stone than the walls she’s been exploring these past several hours. She approaches and discovers a doorway. Finally! She has found the exit to this section! She steps through and finds herself in a run-of-the-mill hedge maze. She takes a few turns and then spots a stone obelisk. To her surprise and delight, she realizes she recognizes it. She’s been in this spot before! She looks around herself and sees the tops of a few more obelisks, and in the distance, just where she expects them to be, some low mountains. She lets out a hoot of joy and dances in place for a few seconds. This was the hedge maze where she’d found Ludo during her first run. If she can reverse her original run, she could be out of the Labyrinth by nightfall. 

Quickly, she runs through her memories. Before the hedge maze, she had been running from the Cleaners. And before that, she had been dropped into an oubliette by the Helping Hands. 

_Damn._ Those were going to be difficult to do in reverse, but she is becoming accustomed to rolling up her metaphorical sleeves and getting to work and she immediately begins searching for a large urn that contains a ladder leading to the subterranean network of passages.

“Steady, brothers! Not much further, surely!”

Sarah’s ears perk up. She knows that voice.

Another familiar voice grumbles, “You’ve been sayin’ that for days.”

Directly in front of her, a large hairy beast lopes into view. He spots her and stops dead, his mouth dropping open in surprise. “Sarah!” he bellows.

“That’s the spirit, Sir Ludo!”

Just then, a sheepdog carrying a fox with a rather noble bearing comes around the corner, stopping just before running into Ludo. The sight of the sheepdog raises a lump in Sarah’s throat, so similar is he to her own Merlin.

“We are certain to find her soon! I can smell it!” Didymus says guiding Ambrosius around Ludo and down a passageway leading away from Sarah.

Overwhelmed by the sight of her friends, Sarah can only grin and try to take in the sight of them.

Then Hoggle joins the others, and Sarah can stand still no longer. A squeak escapes her, and Hoggle, Sir Didymus, and Ambrosius all turn and finally see her as she runs toward them. Hoggle’s eyes widen in recognition and Ambrosius, thrilled to see Sarah, can’t keep his paws still. He drops into a puppy pounce and then tries to jump up to welcome her, nearly throwing Didymus from his seat.

Unsure who to greet first, Sarah pats Ambrosius’ head with one hand and puts her other arm around Hoggle. “I’m so happy to see you guys! I’ve been looking for you forever!” 

“The Wood Women found me a few days ago, said you was lookin’ for the three of us. You’re a hard one to track down,” Hoggle says.

“Wood Women?” Sarah asks. She remembers asking some of the creatures in the Labyrinth how to find her friends, but hadn’t received any answers. She’d assumed her attempts at communication had failed, but perhaps she’d done better than she’d thought.

“‘Bout my size,” Hoggle describes holding his hand at roughly his own height. “Gray,” he adds. When Sarah only looks at him blankly, he tries, “Covered in moss?”

“Oh…” Truthfully, she doesn’t remember, but they’ve helped her out, and she’s grateful to them. She’ll need to ask Jareth how she can repay their kindness.

She stands and hugs Ludo with both arms. He returns the gesture and she can hear a rumble of contentment from deep within his chest. When she pulls away from the beast, she turns to Sir Didymus, who has dismounted Ambrosius and is bowing deeply before her. 

“My lady,” he says in greeting, his voice reverent.

Sarah curtsies, smiling. “Sir Didymus,” she greets in return.

“You look quite different, my lady,” Didymus says, looking concerned before his expression changes to outrage. “If you have been mistreated, I shall...” He begins snarling on the word “mistreated” and Sarah can see how worked up he is getting. She remembers her stained shift and knotted hair and compares the mental image of herself to how she looked when she’d last seen Sir Didymus. If she were in his shoes, she’d be concerned, too.

“No, no!” she assures him. “Everyone has treated me very well. I just… it’s hard to stay tidy right now.” 

“How long you been here?” Hoggle asks, not seeming to care about how she looks.

“I don’t really know,” Sarah answers. “A few months, I guess. I’m supposed to find my way out of the Labyrinth.”

Hoggle’s blue eyes widen. “You mean you been searching for the exit for _a few months..._?”

Sarah looks around her, embarrassed that she had made it to the castle in under thirteen hours and yet has been unable to work the maze backwards in several months’ time. “Well, I mean… there’s a lot of Labyrinth here.”

“...and you made it this far already?” he finishes.

She doesn’t quite know how to respond to that.

“What’re you doing here anyway? The Wood Women didn’t say.”

Sarah exhales, long and low. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well, let’s get you out of here, then, and you can tell us on the way.”

Sarah sneaks surreptitious glances at her friends as they travel through the Labyrinth. Ludo and Didymus have the same sort of electricity about them that she’d noticed around Andy. Her heart sinks as she realizes she has the same control over them as she’d had the runner. It’s a power she is deeply uncomfortable wielding, and she does her best to ignore the ability, resolving never to use it against her friends. But she doesn’t need to ignore it when it comes to Hoggle. He looks normal, no different than he’d ever looked. She has no sense of control over him and it suddenly clicks that the name she knows him by isn’t his real name.

 _Clever Hoggle_ , she thinks. No wonder Jareth had had to resort to physical threats to make Hoggle do what he’d wanted. 

As they progress, she becomes even more grateful to have run into her old friends when she did. She hadn’t relished the idea of returning to the subterranean levels or attempting to find her way up and out of an oubliette. Hoggle takes them on a new route, one she hasn’t seen before, and that is significantly faster than her first run. She has just enough time to tell them about waking up in the castle and her experiences during her first several days in the Labyrinth before they reach the gate. 

As she steps onto the dry dust in the gardens that surround the Labyrinth, Sarah sighs deeply. This is what she’s wanted for so long, to be out of Jareth’s maze and to find Hoggle. She looks down at her friend and feels the gratitude welling up inside her.

“You’re not gonna kiss me again, are you?” Hoggle grumps.

Sarah laughs. “No, I guess not. But I’m so happy!”

Hoggle just grumbles, apparently embarrassed by her show of gratitude. 

Ludo takes a moment to investigate the greenery that grows along the Labyrinth’s outer wall and Sarah can see a fairy has made itself at home on top of his head. He doesn’t seem to have noticed her though, and he soon shuffles over to where Hoggle and Sarah are talking. Didymus dismounts Ambrosius and joins the group while his noble steed sniffs at a small fountain, then makes himself comfortable on the dusty ground, evidently happy to be off his feet.

“What are you gonna do now?” Didymus asks.

Sarah bites her lip. She’s been working towards this moment for so long, and she’d all but given up hope that Hoggle might know a way for her to return Above. “Well… when I got here, I thought I’d find you and see if you could help me get back home. But I’ve been talking to Jareth… The thing is…” How is she supposed to explain this? “Something has happened and I’m not the same as I was before.”

Hoggle, whose expression had quickly gone from thoughtful to concerned as Sarah speaks asks, “You’re one of them Fae now, is that it?”

Startled that he had guessed, she asks “How did you know?”

“If you weren’t, you’d be a goblin by now. Humans can’t live Underground for long. It weren’t Jareth that turned you, neither, was it?”

“No,” Sarah whispers.

“Well, who then?”

“Do you know about Warrin or Elga? I don’t know their last names, but…”

Hoggle’s eyes narrow. “There ain’t nobody Underground who don’t know Warrin and Elga. And they ain’t nothin’ but trouble. You stay away from them if you can help it.” 

“You don’t have to tell me twice. The thing is, though, Jareth took me to meet them. Warrin, I mean. Elga just sort of showed up. And she told me…”

“Ah, this ain’t good,” Hoggle groans.

“No,” Sarah agrees. “But she told me that I need to do something for her. Once I do it, I can go home.”

“Well, just do it already. The sooner you’re done with them, the better.”

“The problem is I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. So now the only way I can go back home is by learning how to do magic and…” she stops, too embarrassed to continue.

“And…?” Hoggle prompts.

Sarah rolls her eyes and mumbles, “I’m supposed to be the Goblin Queen.”

“Sarah, queen,” Ludo says, nodding, while Hoggle and Didymus only glance at each other.

“What?” she asks, surprised that there is neither uproar nor outrage on her behalf.

“Forgive me, my lady, but that is obvious,” Sir Didymus pipes up.

“Ah, it’s written all over you,” Hoggle says.

Sarah looks herself over again. She hasn’t changed a bit since she first ran into them again.

“Not your clothes,” Hoggle clarifies. “It don’t matter what you wear or what you look like. A person would have to be pretty dumb not to notice who you’re supposed to be.”

“But how?” Sarah asks, perplexed. She isn’t at all what she ever envisioned a queen would be.

“When you first saw Jareth, were you confused about who he was?”

She thinks back on that stormy night so long ago. He’d shown up in her parents’ bedroom, all billowing cloak and glitter. He hadn’t been wearing a crown, but she had known immediately who he was. _You’re him, aren’t you? You’re the Goblin King._

“No, I knew.” she confirms.

“Well, it’s the same thing,” Hoggle finishes.

“But I don’t want to be the Goblin Queen,” Sarah says. Desperate, she asks, “Hoggle, do you know another way I can get home?”

Hoggle looks down at his feet and kicks a little at the dust. “Ah, no,” he admits. Sarah had expected this, but that doesn’t keep her heart from sinking. “But I’ll help you any way I can,” he finishes.

“And I!” Didymus declares.

“Ludo,” Ludo adds.

“You’ve already helped so much,” she says, grateful for their offer of help. She has missed having people to talk to, and seeing her old friends is a balm to her heart.

“My lady, what shall we do next?” Didymus asks.

“I’m supposed to add on to the Labyrinth by building my own.”

“Oh, well that ain’t nothin’!” Hoggle says, almost cheerfully.

“Ludo build,” Ludo says.

“I shall gather a crew the likes of which the Underground has never seen!” Didymus exclaims, his enthusiasm growing.

“No, wait! Guys…” The others fall silent. “It’s something I have to do myself. Otherwise, there’s no point.” Her friends look crestfallen. 

“Well, if that is the way you must do it…” Didymus begins slowly.

“But, I could use some guidance,” Sarah adds. It’s true. They can’t help her with the construction, but there’s so much she doesn’t know about the Labyrinth or the surrounding area and her friends’ knowledge could give her a huge advantage. 

“Well, what were you thinkin’?” Hoggle asks.

Sarah thinks for a moment. She has an idea, but there’s something about the Underground that’s been bothering her. “How cold do the winters get here?”

“Winters?” Didymus asks.

Hoggle nods, understanding. “There ain't no winters here,” he explains.

“None? What about Spring or Fall?”

“No seasons.”

“Seasons?” Didymus asks, as if he’d never heard of anything so silly.

Hoggle ignores him. “What you see is what you get.”

Sarah lets her shoulders sag. “So… no snow or ice, huh?” Her best idea had been dependent on cold weather.

“Actually,” Hoggle says, “There’s a mountain on the other side of the Labyrinth that has plenty of both.”

Sarah sighs and lets her shoulders drop in disappointment and frustration. Jareth had said only to find her way out of the Labyrinth; she hadn’t expected to find herself on the wrong side of it. Then she remembers that she should not take anything for granted. “How long will it take to get there?” she asks.

“With me helping you? Just a few hours,” Hoggle says, pride in his voice.

“How do you do that?” Sarah wonders.

“You just gotta know the shortcuts,” Hoggle answers dismissively waving his hands at her.

“Do we have enough time to get there before the sun goes down?”

Hoggle laughs, the sound harsh, but the grin genuine. “ _Do we have enough time?_ ” he repeats.

 

The door Hoggle leads them through several hours later is identical to the one on the other end of the Labyrinth. Though the sun is low in the sky, Sarah is hot as she walks the trail, the steady uphill hike taking its toll. The coniferous trees that surround them give no hint as to what lays at the end of the path and their arrival at the base of the mountain catches Sarah by surprise.

Sarah looks around in wonder. The large meadow in which they find themselves is nearly completely covered in a thick layer of snow and ice which reaches over the base of the mountain like a blanket. Pink primroses, yellow buttercups, and blue flax all bloom on the edges of the ice, while taller raspberry and huckleberry bushes stand between the flowers and the evergreen trees that surround the meadow and line the path leading down to the wall of the Labyrinth. 

“How does this even happen?” Sarah asks, laughing, delighted at the feel of cold snow on her feet when the rest of her is so warm.

“Avalanches,” Hoggle says, pointing to the mountain.

Sarah looks up and sees thick snow-cover far up the steep mountainside. It’s not hard to imagine avalanches barrelling down and creating the snow field and her expression changes from delight to contemplation. The snow is definitely deep enough to burrow into and create a series of tunnels.

“Does the snow ever melt away?” she asks. If she can create her maze beginning in the clearing, burrowing through the deep snow and ice, and then come out on the other side and connect back to the Labyrinth, she’ll have completed her task, but she’ll need to ensure that the maze cannot simply be bypassed.

Hoggle shrugs. “Dunno. I don’t come out here very often, but I’ve never seen snow chute smaller than this.”

Ludo looks at Hoggle, then back at Sarah, his interest in the conversation obvious, though he does not contribute.

Sarah thinks she might be able to have Ludo call some rocks to build a wall between the snow chute and the Labyrinth wall. She might even be able to use some of the blocks from the wall itself, adjusting the outer perimeter to include her own maze. Looking back at the mountainside, she can see that avalanches may cause her some trouble. But if she can shore up the entrance to her maze, she might be able to make them strong enough to withstand an avalanche. She’ll need to talk to Jareth and get his advice. 

“There’s so much to do…” she thinks aloud. She won’t let this task overwhelm her; she’s handled tougher challenges. “Not tonight, though. It’s getting late.” The sun has dipped below the horizon and it is getting dark fast. 

She looks back at her friends. She’d been looking for them for so long that she doesn’t want to leave them, especially in an unfamiliar place who knows how many miles away from their homes. 

She’s made a bargain with Jareth, and she wonders how long she can put off going back. He had never set a time for her to return; sunset had been a self-imposed curfew. She wonders what Jareth would do if she stayed out longer, perhaps even most of the night.

“So… do you guys want to go home or do you want to set up camp?” she asks with a tentative smile.

 

Sarah lays the kindling for their fire into a teepee shape while Ludo and Didymus search for larger pieces of wood to burn. She has never had to light a fire without the help of matches or a lighter before - the cooking fires in Jareth’s kitchen seem to be permanently lit - so she enlists Hoggle’s help to create the flame. He looks at her teepee and shakes his head.

“S’no good. You’re gonna need tinder.” He stomps off to the woods, but comes back quickly, his hand full of small bits of dried grass, birch bark, and tree fungus. He spills the tinder into a small pile next to her unlit campfire, then pulls a knife and flint out of the pouch he wears on his belt and begins striking the steel against the stone.

As she listens to the distant sounds of Ludo and Didymus hunting the woods for fallen logs, she wonders if Hoggle might answer some personal questions.

“Hoggle, why are you here?”

He doesn’t look up at her, just continues striking the the stone, trying to make a spark. “Came to help you, didn’t I?”

“No, I mean why are you in the Labyrinth? You aren’t a wished-away, are you? You’re not a goblin.”

He doesn’t answer.

“I can tell they’re not either,” she says, gesturing to Ludo and Didymus, “but they don’t hide their names.”

That gets his attention.

“You know about that, then, huh?”

“It’s kind of obvious when you know what to look for. Were you born here?”

“Ah, nobody comes from the Labyrinth,” he explains. “If anyone is born here, well then, I don’t know about it. The goblins are brought in by Jareth, but everyone else comes from other realms.”

“Other realms?” It hadn’t really occurred to her that there would be anything else.

“Well, sure. You’re in the Goblin Kingdom, ain’t ya? So it stands to reason there’d be a Dwarf Kingdom,” he points at himself, “a Troll Kingdom, a Fairy Kingdom…” He stops striking the flint long enough to roll his hands, “and so on.”

“So why would you come here? I mean, if you have a kingdom full of your own people?”

“Because sometimes kingdoms don’t last.” His voice is gruff, dismissive, and Sarah wonders if it’s a sensitive subject.

“What’s the Dwarf Kingdom like?” Sarah asks, curious.

Hoggle’s shoulders slump and he stops trying to make a spark. He looks around at the meadow and the field of snow and ice beyond, a wistful look on his face. “Not like this,” is all he says.

“Why did you come here? Why move to the Labyrinth?” she asks. 

Hoggle takes a while to answer, but finally, he says, “Because Jareth let me.”

Sarah sits back on her heels, thinking about that for a moment. “You had to leave your kingdom?”

“Yeah, well, sometimes you just gotta move on.”

“But you don’t like Jareth,” she says. She remembers that distinctly. He’d said that Jareth scares him. “None of the other kingdoms would let you in?” 

No response.

“He does that a lot, doesn’t he? Lets people move into the Labyrinth?”

Hoggle only nods, his hands steadily ticking away at the stone. He pulls the occasional spark from the knife, but they land wrong, missing the tinder, and extinguishing.

“The people who move here… do they usually tell Jareth their names?”

Hoggle shrugs. “They seem to.”

“But you won’t tell him yours.”

He looks up at her, his eyes serious. “I don’t tell it to no one,” he says, his voice firm, and Sarah knows he’s saying that he will never tell even her. That suits her fine; she’d rather not hold that power over anyone. 

He goes back to his work, and a spark flies from the stone and lands in the tinder nest. Hoggle leans down close and blows gently on the spark, causing it to glow. The tinder ignites and Hoggle looks pleased with himself. “There,” he says. “Nothin’ to it.” He begins feeding small bits of kindling to the fire, allowing it to grow.

“Hey! Good job, Hoggle! Just in the nick of time, too!” Sarah says. The sky has dimmed to the darkest of blues and the little fire gives off just enough light to show just how late it is.

Suddenly, several tall torches materialize in a wide circle around the pair, their bright lights diminishing the effect of their small fire’s flame. Their appearance startles Sarah and Hoggle, who both jump to their feet and shield their eyes from the light.

Jareth’s boots on the dirt path sound far different than they do on the stone inside the Labyrinth, and Sarah nearly doesn’t recognize the cadence of his walk. But she knows it is him before he steps into the circle of light created by his torches, and her heart starts to race. For a moment, she’s reminded of how she felt when she arrived home late and saw Karen waiting for her on the front porch, a look of disapproval etched across her face. She knew the worst Karen would do is send her to her room and she feels nervous laughter bubble in her gut when she thinks Jareth might do the same.

“It’s late, Sarah. You’re usually home by now,” he says.

Sarah rolls her eyes, bracing herself for an argument. “The castle isn’t my home, Jareth.” Home is Above. Home is with her family.

“Do you not live there, then? Have you decided to renege on our agreement?” She notices how Hoggle’s eyes widen as he looks up at her. She hadn’t told him about the deal she’d made with Jareth, and she hopes he isn’t jumping to any embarrassing conclusions.

Sarah glances at the mound of snow and ice, knowing she needs his help to create her Labyrinth. “Well, no… But I never said I’d be back at the castle at a certain time, either.” 

“So you were planning on abandoning your friends in the wilderness outside the Labyrinth while you retired to the castle for the evening.” 

She doesn’t know how to reply to that. She hadn’t wanted to leave them; that’s why she’s still here. But she also hadn’t figured out yet how she was going to handle leaving them. 

“I thought I’d help set up camp for them,” she says, lamely, as she gestures to the small campfire Hoggle built.

“Very well,” Jareth says, all false cheer. “Show me what you learned while you helped. Perhaps you can show me how you built shelter for the evening, or the food you cooked, or even how you started this little fire.” He crouches near the campfire and holds his gloved hands over it as if he needs the warmth.

Sarah swallows hard. She should have expected this. It’s what he’s done since she moved into the castle; checking up on her magical skills and ensuring that they’re progressing. She has nothing new to show for the day.

“In your own time, Sarah.” 

She looks him straight in the eye and he smirks. 

“Nothing, then?” he asks, standing again. He knows she has nothing to show him.

Sarah looks at the ground. “I don’t know,” she says, embarrassed and ashamed. She has been no help to her friends.

“Hogget…” Jareth begins.

“Hoggle!” Hoggle corrects, irritably.

“Yes,” Jareth agrees, dismissively, without even a glance in Hoggle’s direction. “Leave us.” 

Hoggle looks to Sarah, hesitant to disobey Jareth, but more hesitant to leave Sarah alone with him.

“Now,” Jareth demands, his voice quiet, but firm.

Sarah looks down at Hoggle and manages a weak smile. “It’s ok,” she tells him. “I’ll find you tomorrow.”

Reluctantly, Hoggle turns toward the forest path and leaves Sarah with Jareth.

Sarah watches him leave, and when she can no longer see him, she turns back toward Jareth. “Ludo and Sir Didymus are in the woods,” she says, full disclosure seeming important.

“Not any longer. I have sent them back to their homes.”

Sarah’s mouth drops open. He had sent them away and she hadn’t even gotten a chance to say goodbye. “You had no right to do that!” 

“I have every right to do what I please in my kingdom. In fact, it is my duty to ensure their safety. Would you have left them here all night without food or shelter?”

“They’d be ok. _I_ was,” she says, defensively. Months of sleeping in the open and foraging for food has made her feel pretty confident in her ability to care for herself. If she could do it, surely the others could, too.

“You had help. The residents of the Labyrinth will not let you starve. They may not be so kind to those who are not their queen.”

“I’m not their queen!” Sarah shouts, exasperated.

“Yet,” Jareth corrects. “Or have you forgotten? Your goal now is to become their queen. The power to transport yourself Above is available only to the monarchs of this kingdom. It will be the most difficult piece of magic you ever perform. Unless you begin to perfect these basic spells, there is no hope that you will return to your home Above. Was that not clear?”

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t go back to the castle earlier,” she says shortly, hoping to end the conversation.

“I care little about your comings and goings,” he replies. “I care more about your progress.”

“It was just one day!”

“One day in which you could have learned how to start a fire, how to build a house, or move walls...”

“Ugh, ok! Fine!” she interrupts, hoping he’ll stop talking.

“You are meant to be learning the basics, Sarah. I will say it only once more: do not sit idly by while your subjects do your work for you. You will learn nothing, and you will not return to your family.”

She feels tears prick at her eyes at the mention of her family, and she wonders if he meant it or if he is only trying to hurt her. “I’m sorry,” she says, sincerely.

Jareth sighs and begins to pace. “What’s said is said, Sarah. I will hold you to your end of our bargain: the castle is your home as long as you are in the Underground.”

Sarah nods. She hadn’t intended to back out of the agreement. She thinks of her room with its wide windows and large fireplace. It’s not a bad place, and it may even become comfortable one day. But the castle itself is the problem. It’s filthy and it’s infested with goblins, and she’s just not sure she can stand to be around them, knowing that they used to be human. 

“But there is no one in the Labyrinth who understands your situation better than I,” Jareth continues. “If you, on occasion, find yourself unable to leave your project, I will not require you to return for the evening. Remember, though, that there is more to learn than just how to build a Labyrinth. The time it takes you to come into your magic is determined by how hard you work.”

She blinks, surprised, knowing that the concession he has offered her is quite generous. _Genuinely_ generous. He was under no obligation to grant her any kind of reprieve from their agreement, and yet here he was doing just that.

“I will not discourage you from visiting your friends, but I must protest you allowing them to abandon their posts. All of my subjects have duties to perform.”

“All of them?”

“Mm,” Jareth confirms, but does not elaborate. Instead, he changes the subject. “Let’s ensure the day isn’t a total waste. Surely you watched Hogtie build your campfire.”

“Hoggle.”

Jareth ignores the correction. “Show me what you learned.”

Her head is still spinning from his show of unexpected generosity, and it’s almost a relief when he reverts back to his normal, demanding self.

“Um…,” she says stalling for time, thinking what she might be able to show Jareth. “Oh! Hoggle showed me tinder!” She runs the short distance to the woods and collects some of the dried grass and birch bark she’d seen Hoggle bring back to light their fire.

“Very good,” Jareth says, seemingly pleased. “Now light it the way the dwarf did.”

“Um… I can’t.”

“You didn’t watch him, then?”

“I did, but he had a knife and a stone. Um…,” she tries to remember the name of the stone. “Flint, right?”

The change in Jareth’s expression is almost imperceptible, but she notices. 

“What?” she asks. “I don’t have to make a knife, do I?” She wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“That won’t be necessary. There are other ways to make fire.”

He sends her back into the woods for a long, straight stick and a flat piece of wood to use as a fire board. It takes much longer than gathering tinder did, the light from the circle of torches barely sufficient to see where she’s walking. She hunts the areas outside the snow field looking for wood that is old and bone dry. She doesn’t know much about fire-building, but she knows that dry wood is crucial. The stick is easy enough to find, but Jareth is particular about the board and keeps her looking until she finds one that has a notch that nearly splits the board in two. 

When she has both the stick and the board, he instructs her to set it up near her little tinder nest and then shows her how to spin the stick between her hands, pressing downward against the fire board to create friction that causes the spot where the stick meets the board to warm. She twirls the stick between her hands until her arms begin to ache, and the campfire that Hoggle built dies and cools. Jareth watches her without speaking, lounging against a nearby fallen log within the circle of torches.

“This doesn’t make any sense, Jareth,” she says in frustration, dropping the stick to the ground. “Why can’t I just use a lighter or one of those torches to light this thing?”

Jareth looks thoughtful for a moment. “If you want to the ability to create fire on a whim, you must first create fire with your hands.”

“We should just look for some flint,” Sarah mutters as she stretches her sore muscles, then picks up and starts spinning the stick again.

“And how does flint work, Sarah?”

She shrugs, rolling the stick between her hands back-and-forth. “You hit it with something metal and it makes a spark.”

“What kind of metal?”

Sarah shrugs. “Steel maybe?”

“And where do you get steel?”

“Enough with the leading questions, Jareth. Just get to the point,” she says, tired and irritable.

“Steel is an alloy that is comprised mostly of iron. Did any of your storybooks talk about iron?” 

Sarah sits back on her heels, allowing herself to a short rest. Her books _did_ talk about iron. It was supposed to be poisonous to the Fae. 

“Oh,” she says, understanding. “But Jareth, it’s just cold iron that is dangerous, isn’t it? Like, regular iron or steel would be ok, I thought.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Exactly what do you think cold iron is?”

She thinks for a moment before admitting, “I don’t know.” She’d never thought much about it. It might be the temperature of the metal or how it’s made, but her books never specified. 

“‘Cold iron’ refers to a weapon. Specifically, a blade. Today, the people Above might say ‘cold steel’ instead.”

“Oh.” Sarah thinks of the knife in Hoggle’s hand and the expression on Jareth’s face when she’d mentioned it. “ _Oh._ ”

“Indeed.”

“How bad would it be? Like, if I nicked my finger?”

“It seems unlikely that Elga will allow it to kill you.”

“Would it kill me if Elga didn’t have my name?”

“Perhaps. Do you think you could stop yourself from dying of iron poisoning?”

She thinks about it, concentrating on the parts of herself she can control. She has no idea if she has that kind of control over herself, but she’s a novice. Surely most of the Fae would be strong enough to be unaffected by the metal.

“If it doesn’t kill the Fae, then why are they so scared of it?”

“It may make you wish you were dead.”

Sarah cringes, unwilling to think too much about an illness that would hurt enough to wish for death.

“Your board cools every time you let it rest,” he says, getting back to the topic of the fire.

Sarah leans back over her fire-making tools and begins spinning her stick. “There’s gotta be an easier way,” she says.

“It will never be more difficult than it is right now,” Jareth responds.

It’s a thought she finds strangely comforting - the idea that she is working so hard now to make her life easier in the future. She ignores her protesting muscles as she rolls the stick between her hands, applying downward pressure against the notch, and watching it slowly grow black. Her hands slide down the stick as she rolls it and she pauses only to move them back to the top and begin again. Eventually, a whisper of smoke rises from her board, and soon after, a little red ember begins to glow.

“Oh!” she exclaims. “Oh oh oh!” She excitedly waves her hands and points down at the ember.

“Feed it some tinder,” Jareth instructs.

She touches the small nest of dry vegetation she’d gathered from the woods to the ember and it quickly begins to smolder before bursting into flames. Next, she adds kindling and then larger pieces of dry wood until she has a roaring campfire. She stands, stretching her tired muscles and smiles down at her handiwork.

A glance at Jareth shows that he looks nearly as proud as she does. But he makes a gesture and they are suddenly both plunged into darkness. Sarah gasps, disoriented, unsure of where she is. It takes a few seconds for her eyes to adjust and for her to realize that she hasn’t moved at all; Jareth has snuffed the flames of all of his torches and her campfire.

“Hey!” she protests, outraged.

“Again,” he says.

Sarah grits her teeth. All of that work, wasted. The man is sadistic, no question, and there’s no way she’s going to get back down on the ground and start spinning that damned stick again.

She glares at the remains of her fire, her anger hot. She remembers the work, the effort of creating the ember, feeding it fuel and making it grow. Suddenly, the campfire bursts into flames as if Jareth had never put it out.

Startled, Sarah yelps and jumps back. Then, as she realizes what has happened, she starts to laugh. “I did it!” she shouts at Jareth.

The smile he gives her is slight, but it warms her more than the fire in front of her. She can feel him watching her as he leans back to lounge against the log. She keeps her eyes on the flames of her fire, but can’t help but watch him from the corner of her eye, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He always exudes a sense of power and confidence, and for the first time since her arrival in the Labyrinth, she feels powerful, too.

“Jareth?” she asks.

“Hmm?”

“I have an idea for my Labyrinth.”

 

The late afternoon sun shines down on Jareth as he perches on a post at the park where Sarah used to play. He has been debating with himself about checking in on the Williamses. He needs to stop, but knows he won’t. The wound caused by Sarah’s absence refuses to heal and the family continues to live in constant pain. He wants to look away, but feels responsible for them in a way he can’t explain even to himself.

Sarah’s father has developed a surprising knack for noticing him. He’d always thought of the man as unobservant, too wrapped up in his own life to notice little things around him like his daughter’s difficulty adjusting to a new stepmother and brother. But these days, more often than not, when Jareth looks through the windows of the Williams’ home, he finds Robert Williams looking right back at him. More disturbing, though, is the hatred on Robert’s face as he looks at the owl. He would have understood it, once upon a time, but most people no longer consider owls a harbinger of bad luck.

So much of the old knowledge has been warped or forgotten. Sarah’s misunderstanding of the dangers of iron stands as evidence of this, and though he hadn’t met anyone yet who’d suffered from iron poisoning, the stories were clear. Unimaginable suffering awaited any Fae unfortunate enough to have iron mix with their blood. 

He hadn’t known the dwarf had brought a knife with him from his former home and he once again regrets allowing him entrance. But he couldn’t turn him away knowing the hell to which he would return. So many of the inhabitants of Jareth’s kingdom come from fallen lands, the Labyrinth their only chance at a peaceful life. The dwarf is the sole inhabitant who has not sworn his fealty by sharing his name with his new monarch, though, and Jareth assigned him work outside the Labyrinth as a result. He proved himself clever and resourceful, however, learning the intricacies of the Labyrinth in a way only Jareth has ever done. Of course Sarah would find him and befriend him; the woman is the definition of Sod’s law. The idea that Sarah may be injured by the iron in the knife makes his stomach clench. The dwarf will have hell to pay if she is exposed to its poison.

He surprises himself with that thought. He would be devastated if one of his subjects died from accidental iron poisoning, but Sarah is not one of his subjects. Why should he feel so strongly about her?

He has to admit that he has enjoyed having her in the castle. Her room is far from his own, but the place feels warmer when she is in it and he likes having the option of visiting her in the evenings as she settles down for the night. 

He squashes that line of thought before it can go any further. She doesn’t want to stay and he shouldn’t grow accustomed to her presence. He can’t afford to grow fond of her, and frankly, she can’t afford it, either. Fondness will lead to leniency and leniency will lead to failure. 

His damnable desire to see her happy compelled him to offer her the option of staying outside the castle overnight, albeit occasionally. She should return to the castle in the evenings. Firstly, it was in her best interest to learn the skills that he could teach her. Secondly, she’d made a deal and she needs to keep her end of the bargain. The Fae were insistent on this point. You could do pretty much anything you liked, but to break a deal was unforgivable. She may not wish to stay with him in the Labyrinth when she gained her powers, but she would forevermore be Fae and she needed to abide by the rules. 

He makes a conscious effort to ignore thoughts on how she’ll integrate back into her old life. If she makes it on time, that is. She’s not human any longer. But what she does after she leaves him is none of his concern, and he’s certain he can live quite happily without the Goblin Queen in residence.

His thoughts drift to his own family. It’s disturbing how often this happens when he visits this little town Sarah calls home. He hadn’t seen the aftermath of his own disappearance and had assumed that his family had experienced a short period of mourning before Gerald took Osanna to wife; their happy union bringing the unpleasantness of Jareth’s disappearance to a close. He imagined them all quickly moving on with their lives, before watching their dreams slowly crumble to ruin. That was the narrative he pictured all these years - the small justice he could claim for what his brother had done to him.

But what if he’d been wrong? Perhaps the mourning had been what destroyed his family. He had been his parents’ favorite, and his father had been in quite ill health when Jareth had been taken. He thinks of the Williams’ neighbors who now avoid the family entirely. In the midst of his family’s mourning, could Osanna have refused to marry Gerald? Even if that were the case, Gerald would have found another woman to marry him. But if Gerald had mourned the way the Williamses mourned, could that have destroyed him? Those who wish away their children find no consolation in the dreams they take in exchange - he ensures it - but Jareth had not yet had the power to crush Gerald’s dreams. Could his disappearance have done the work for him? 

There was a time the thought would have brought him joy. 

The deep-throated bark of a large dog pulls him from his thoughts. He recognizes the shaggy animal, though he has changed in the years since he last saw him. The dog has grown old and fat, and runs so slowly that Jareth is surprised he managed to get away from his master at all. Transforming into his human shape, Jareth takes a knee to coax the dog to him.

Merlin’s eyes have clouded over with cataracts, but he finds Jareth easily and sniffs his gloved hand. 

“Missing your mistress, I see,” Jareth says, running his fingers through the long, thick fur on the top of the animal’s head.

“I’m so sorry!” a voice calls out. Robert Williams is running toward him holding a leash in one hand, his eyes focused on the dog. As he snaps the leash onto Merlin’s collar, he says, “My daughter used to run with him to the park, but it’s been years since he’s taken off like that! Comforting to know the old boy still has it in him.” 

The smile on Robert’s face disintegrates when he finally looks at Jareth.

“You.” His voice is quiet, a whisper.

Jareth stands and puts his fists on his hips, unwilling to be cowed by this man.

“I know who you are.” Louder now.

The Goblin King does not fear Robert Williams, but a lesser man would be terrified - _should_ be terrified - by the look of hatred across the mortal’s face. He looks ready to tear Jareth apart with his bare hands.

“Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you? She kept a statue of you in her room! Where is she?”

The dog has started barking, his eyes looking from his master, to Jareth, and then back again as if he can’t decide who he’s barking at.

Jareth considers his options. He could simply vanish in front of him, leaving Robert ranting to the air and questioning his own sanity. But this is Sarah’s father. Out of respect for her, he will be generous.

“Bring her back!” Robert shouts.

The Goblin King, Master of Dreams, will grant the father of his future queen a reprieve. He flips a crystal into his hand and floats it toward the man. The gesture and the crystal momentarily silence him and he watches, mouth agape, as it comes toward him. It captures him up, taking the barking dog along as well, and transports them back to the Williams’ house where Robert will find himself in his bed, waking from a short afternoon nap. The Goblin King will not be a fact to him; just another bad dream in a never-ending series of bad dreams.

He did not create this heartbreak, and he cannot heal it, but he may know a way to make it more bearable. He may give them, Sarah and her family, an opportunity for closure and healing. She’s not ready, not yet, but after a time, he’ll share this with her. It is the best he can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story.
> 
> Acknowledgments:  
> In addition to _Labyrinth_ , this work is inspired by the Gary Jules cover of the song "Mad World," by Tears for Fears, a prompt from the Livejournal Labyfic community, and by my friend M. who will probably not read this, but should be acknowledged nonetheless.
> 
> This story has been beta'd by Aurora Kemanche and Exulansis, both of whom I'd like to thank for their friendship, time, ideas, and general awesomeness.
> 
>  _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


	7. Progress

_“I hardly see you anymore, my heart.”_

_Jareth stands before Warrin, unwilling to show his irritation at having been summoned to this room yet again._

_“My apologies,” he says, nodding his head in the slightest of bows. “There is much work to do. I have subjects now.”_

_“A most unexpected and pleasant development, to be sure, my love. I am quite pleased that so many creatures have found a suitable home in your Labyrinth. But do not forget those of us here. Your presence has been missed.”_

_“I assure you,” Jareth says with a smile he hopes looks genuine, “I will never forget you or your guests.”_

_That his presence is still desired at the Soirée is flattering, but it doesn’t make Jareth want to visit Warrin or his ball more often. Jareth is quite popular among the Fae who regularly attend, but he has tasted of their charms and grown disinterested._

_He is not missed by the guests anywhere near as much as he is missed by Warrin, he is sure; Jareth knows he is Warrin’s primary source of entertainment. Trapped and bored, Warrin requires frequent updates on Jareth’s activities. Jareth knows Warrin watches him and sees what is happening throughout the Labyrinth. But watching isn’t enough for the red-headed man; he wants to participate, and Jareth must always find ways for Warrin to believe he is influencing the development of his kingdom._

_The near-constant arrival of fae of all kinds into the Labyrinth has been challenging. Finding or building them suitable homes is time-consuming work, and not all species are compatible with one another, leading to friction, arguments, and the occasional small skirmish. He separates the incompatible species into different sections of the Labyrinth, creating new mazes as the need arises, but some mixing is inevitable. He allows his subjects the freedom to solve their own problems, stepping in only if arguments become violent or if his goblins are threatened. He rarely sees the need to intervene; his subjects know he’ll banish them if necessary, and the vast majority are unwilling to risk so severe a punishment._

_But most of the new people bring with them materials and skills that benefit both the Labyrinth and Jareth’s magical abilities. He recognizes some of the things they bring: certain plants and animals he remembers from his mortal life Above. But others bring things he has never before seen in his life, and the new foodstuffs and materials add interest and variety to an existence that had become unbearably mundane. In exchange for his protection, he assigns them responsibilities to maintain and grow the Labyrinth, keeping it stocked with food and supplies, and ensuring that it is capable of sustaining its ever-expanding population._

_In the Labyrinth, Jareth is in his element, utilizing the training instilled in him by his father and the magic granted him by Warrin. As a result, the Labyrinth is successful and wealthy, a far cry from the kingdoms from which his new subjects emigrate. His people are diverse, but their stories all have a common thread. Their kings have failed them; their kingdoms have fallen. These people come to him seeking refuge, and he will not deny them. But his path is a narrow one, and he must always tread carefully around the one person in the world who has the ability to spoil his life’s work. If Jareth’s kingdom fades, his subjects will have nowhere else to go._

_“I need your opinion,” Jareth tells Warrin. “How do you feel about fairies in the gardens outside the Labyrinth?”_

 

“Jareth!” Sarah calls. 

Just as Jareth had promised, she has developed the ability to find people in the Labyrinth - Jareth and Hoggle included, though she does not know their real names - and can easily transport herself to wherever they’re located. Right now, Jareth is on the other side of the Labyrinth, but she is confident he will come to her. She hasn’t let him set foot inside the ice maze and she knows him well enough at this point to see the curiosity that simmers under his haughty facade.

Sure enough, he is by her side within a heartbeat of her call. She smiles to herself, pleased that he is so interested in her work. It’s been difficult and time-consuming, but as she looks around at the dimpled aqua tunnels that surround her, she is confident she has done well.

She stays a few steps behind Jareth as he navigates her maze, ensuring she doesn’t give any hints on how to solve it. The river of icy runoff that rushes through the caves seems to amuse him, acting as it does as a natural obstacle in many of the passageways. It takes him several hours to complete the maze, and every time he reaches a dead end, he laughs. At first, she had made a special effort not to laugh at him as he took wrong turn after wrong turn, but his laughter is infectious and soon they’re laughing together, his hand at her shoulder as he turns to retrace his steps and find a new path.

She envies his ability to stay dry. She hasn’t yet figured out how he managed that little trick, seemingly dodging the droplets of freezing cold water as they drip from the ceiling to the rocky floor of the ice caves. She doesn’t mind getting wet, but water seems to set the knots that form in her hair, making brushing them out even more difficult. It had taken her a solid week to slowly work the knots out of her hair that had formed during her first few months in the Labyrinth. Jareth had refused her a brush, insisting she make one of her own. She had eventually improvised a brush using a teasel and small piece of leather Hoggle gave her to protect her fingers. It’s not ideal, but it gets the job done until she can focus on making something a little more effective and a little easier to handle. 

Until she learns how to keep it dry magically, her hair is protected by her clothing from the water that constantly drips from the ceiling. The garment she wears is more of a long length of fabric than a dress, but she has plans for it and hopes to work on its design when this first major task is complete. For now, she drapes her homemade linen over her head then wraps it across her torso and around her lower back and upper thighs, tucking the loose ends in at her waist. The overall effect is that of a short dress with a hood. She’s still unhappy with the fabric she has made for the garment, but a family of silkworms she met while visiting Ludo a few months earlier offered to provide silk for a new dress when the ice maze is complete and she is looking forward to learning how to weave it into fabric. 

Shadows move behind the translucent walls of ice. Jareth stops to take a closer look, the amusement on his face transforming into wonder as he recognizes the ice pixies. They’re harmless, of course, despite their fierce expressions and sharp fingertips. In fact, she considers some of them good friends, bonding as they did over their mutual love of water and dislike of clothing, but they’ll be frightening to the runners, and she supposes that’s the point.

Their path ends at a wall with a flowing, mirror-like surface.

“The riddle,” Sarah explains.

“Excellent.” Jareth looks pleased, and that makes Sarah happier than she expected to be. “Where does it lead?” he asks.

Sarah grins. “The corn maze.”

Jareth looks heavenward and sighs, almost as if he’s disappointed, and Sarah tries to suppress her laughter. 

“I like the corn maze,” she says, smiling.

“You didn’t learn anything.”

“That’s not true,” she argues. “I learned how to grow corn.”

Jareth’s steely gaze is his only reply. 

“One day, I’ll learn how to make tamales and then you’ll understand.”

He turns from her, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips, and gazes at his reflection in the wall. Slowly, his image disappears and is replaced by one of the ice pixies. Its voice rings out through the cavern.

“I’m teary-eyed, but never cry. Silver-tongued, but never lie. Double-winged, but never fly. Air-cooled, but never dry.”

Jareth raises an eyebrow. “That riddle is as old as I am. The runners will know the answer.”

“I’m not trying to make them lose.”

“The door even resembles mercury,” Jareth argues, gesturing toward the wall as the little fairy’s image disappears and the door opens.

They step through the exit and into the corn maze. Jareth sighs deeply and Sarah hides a grin. He looks as exasperated as he does when he’s dealing with the goblins in the castle, and for some reason, it pleases her that she’s done that to him.

“So tell me, Jareth. How did you enjoy my Labyrinth?”

“It was...” 

_A piece of cake_ , she thinks automatically.

“Adequate,” he finishes, grinning.

Sarah scoffs. _Adequate._ Her maze is _spectacular_. It should be. It has taken her far longer than she ever expected to complete it. Several failed attempts, unexpected avalanches, cave-ins, melting snow, and more delayed her project as she learned how to solve each problem. 

Jareth was surprisingly helpful during those more frustrating moments. He wouldn’t fix the problem himself, but was happy to give her advice whenever she asked. It had taken her far too long to discover that little quirk of his. He wouldn’t volunteer information, but if she asked, he would give her a solution. Sometimes it wasn’t entirely clear how she should implement his solutions, though. Like the time she was too frustrated tunneling under the snow to continue. She’d asked his advice and he had simply suggested she warm the earth underneath and let the heat do the tunneling for her. It had taken her ages to discover how to do that, but the end results spoke for themselves. The ice caverns looked natural, and she learned a lot even from her failed attempts. 

“I noticed you somehow managed to explore every cavern. How many were wrong turns and how many were just your curiosity.”

He leans in close, his arm brushing her shoulder. She can feel his breath against her ear as he whispers, “I’ll never tell.”

He’s been doing that a lot lately, small touches on her shoulders or upper back. They are friendly gestures, nothing more, but she can’t help but admit, if only to herself, that she enjoys them, and probably more than she really ought to. 

She still dreams of him, but the dreams have changed as she’s gotten to know him. In them, he no longer silently demands her submission. Rather, she teases him as much as he teases her, her sleeping mind transforming the small touches she receives in her waking hours into heated caresses that she relishes returning.

“You’ve done well,” he continues, and Sarah grins, hoping he’ll think the blush that has spread across her face and chest is from the compliment. “I have another small challenge for you.”

It’s a relief that he has another task lined up for her. She’s grown a lot since she began this project, but she’s nowhere near mastering her abilities and she wants a project more important than her clothing to focus on. Unwilling to rest on her laurels now that her section of the Labyrinth is complete, she is eager to begin work on something new.

He holds his hand out to her, and she gladly lays her own in it. Together, they transport to a clifftop high above the Labyrinth. She squeezes Jareth’s hand a bit tighter as she looks over the edge to the sharp rocks far below.

“Ok?” she says, looking into his eyes for some clue as to what they’re doing.

“Tell me, Sarah. Do you think you can fly?”

Her eyes grow large, and she laughs nervously. Flying? She’d never considered the possibility, but there are so many things she can do now that she couldn’t do before her transformation. Could flying be one of them?

He moves his hands to her waist, pulling her closer to him. And, for a moment, she’s grateful for it. He feels like safety and security, but then she notices the change in his expression. His eyes narrow as if he’s about to...

_He wouldn’t..._

“Let’s find out,” he says, his grin positively evil as he grips her tightly around the waist and lets himself fall over the edge of the cliff, pulling her with him.

She doesn’t even have time to resist him before she is falling with him, the adrenaline pumping into her extremities and making her hands and feet tingle unpleasantly. She shrieks, but he only laughs as they fall, the sharp rocks below them rising to meet them with alarming speed.

Suddenly, Jareth’s arm around her waist is gone and a white and tan barn owl is falling with her, his body pointed downward in a dive, but his eyes locked on hers. He’s transformed. She’d known he had the ability and had seen him do it before, but it’s still a shocking sight, especially in these circumstances.

She remembers diving in a similar manner, once upon a time. She doesn’t have time to think about the process; she simply wills herself into the proper position and before she knows it, she is spreading her wings and pulling herself out of her dive, narrowly missing the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. 

Oh, she’s missed the feeling of being airborne. The power and freedom that come with it are unlike anything else she’s ever experienced. She flies high into the air, as high as she can go, then soars, studying the landscape below her. The Labyrinth stretches across the land, but from the air she can see so much more of the land beyond the great, sprawling maze. Flat emptiness spreads for miles in all directions, desolate and dry. _It needs water_ , she thinks. She wonders how long it would take to spread into that land, filling it with puzzles, people, and greenery, bringing life to it and making it theirs.

She can’t see much of herself even though her eyesight is sharp, but a quick glance at her wings and feet are enough to confirm that she has transformed into her osprey-self. Taking this form feels even better than she remembers. During her transformation into one of the Fae, she’d been the bird, a creature of pure id, without thoughts of self-worth or ambition. Now she is fully herself, every part of her mental being packed into the body of the osprey. She can feel all of the warring emotions within her: her desire to come into her power and return to her family, her pride in her work in the Labyrinth, and her love for her friends. 

She has only a moment to feel gratitude toward Jareth for showing her how to take this form before remembering that he had pulled her off of a cliff. She’ll make him pay for that. 

Her raptor eyes spot the barn owl immediately, flying quickly away from her. He’s not going to get away that easily. She chases after him and is surprised to notice that in this form, she is both larger and faster than him. It takes her only moments to overtake him. She thinks she’ll grab him with her feet and give him a good shake, but he quickly outmaneuvers her, dodging her claws and heading for the safety of the trees in the distance. 

She’s faster, but he has more experience, and it quickly becomes clear that he has the advantage. They chase each other, but he always manages to dodge her attacks. He has a knack for dropping back beneath her just as she reaches to grab him and then attacking her from behind. He bumps her with his body, or taps her with a claw, but never grabs her. She is unable to change direction quite as quickly as he does, and though she never manages to grab him, she does manage a few direct hits with her body, nudging him back exactly the way he nudges her. 

Exhausted, she finds a heavy branch in a nearby tree on which to perch and Jareth, seeming to sense that she is done playing, heads for the ground, transforming back into his normal shape as he touches down. It takes only a conscious thought, a desire to return to herself, and she feels her arms and legs lengthen as she transforms. She loses her balance and nearly falls from the tree as she regains her standard form. She catches herself with her hands against the trunk of the tree and then settles herself, allowing her legs to dangle from the branch on which she now sits.

“Careful, Sarah! A fall from that height could kill a person!” he laughs, and Sarah feels the corners of her mouth start to twitch. 

“You jerk,” she says when the smile finally breaks out across her face. She transports herself to the ground next to him and only then does it occur to her that she could have simply transported herself, instead of transforming. “There had to be a better way of teaching me how to do that.”

“Perhaps, but certainly none more entertaining.”

Sarah rolls her eyes and playfully nudges him with her shoulder.

“Ok, but seriously, though. What should I do next?” she says, stretching. She may be in a different form now, but the transformation and flight seem to have taken its toll on her muscles.

“Transport us both to your room.”

Sarah has been transporting directly to and from her room as she comes and goes from the castle. The goblins may have grown on her - they're generally good natured and their antics make her laugh - but most days, she prefers to avoid their noise and mess. Regardless, she raises an eyebrow at his request. He meets her gaze and raises an eyebrow of his own, challenging her to acknowledge the innuendo.

Transporting has become old hat and Sarah can do it easily on her own, but she’s never tried transporting with another living thing before. Still, she’s managed to transport herself with inanimate objects such as her clothing, and she figures a person can’t be too much more difficult.

She’s wrong, of course. She realizes just how wrong she is the instant she and Jareth appear in her room. She’s managed it, but she’s shocked at just how exhausted she is. It must be all of the work she’d done that day. The finishing touches on her Labyrinth, learning to transform into an osprey, and then her mid-air sparring match with Jareth must have been a little too much for her all in one day. She wants to fall into her narrow bed and fall instantly asleep.

“How do you do that all the time?” she asks. He doesn’t seem tired at all.

He laughs. “Time and practice,” he answers. It’s always time and practice with him. “I think you may be ready for something truly special. How would you like to try dreamwalking?”

Sarah feels too tired to delve into a new topic and looks longingly at her bed.

“Rest now,” he says, seeing her exhaustion. “You’ll need it.”

She knows it sounds ominous, but she’s just too tired to care. As he disappears, she unwraps her clothing from around herself, tossing it to the floor, and crawls into her bed. To her surprise, she doesn’t fall asleep right away. Instead, she considers this dreamwalking idea. They hadn’t discussed it before, but she suspects it is exactly what the word implies, and she wonders whose dreams she’ll be traveling through.

She thinks about the possibility of walking through Jareth’s dreams and wonders what she might see. Her heart beats faster when she thinks he might want her to reciprocate and allow him to walk through hers. She thinks about those oh-so-intimate moments that her mind creates as she sleeps. She’d die of embarrassment, Elga be damned, if he ever found out.

At the thought of those dreams, though, she indulges in a bit of fantasy, creating new scenarios in her mind where he touches her, kisses her, and does so much more to her. She meets him touch-for-touch, taking liberties with him he’d never really allow. Eventually, she drifts off, her dreams every bit as sweet as her fantasies.

 

Jareth has learned to hide himself from Robert Williams, unwilling to risk another confrontation like they’d had in the park. He keeps tabs on them from a distance, the sharp eyes and ears of his owl form allowing him to see and hear what his Fae form will not. 

The family has slowly begun to function again after so many years, but it’s an unhappy existence for all of them. There is distance between Robert and his wife and child, as if the man can’t seem to connect to them. Jareth is grateful for Karen’s persistent care of her husband. She provides a comfortable home, well-prepared meals, and emotional support, though Robert seems neither to notice nor appreciate it. His outburst in the park had been the only display of emotion Jareth had ever seen from him. In the absence of care, let alone passion, many women would have left long ago.

It makes him wonder why Elga has stayed with Warrin all these years. Surely it would have been easier for them to simply split than to constantly antagonize one another, worsening their situation with every passing century, each enduring unending misery just to punish the other.

Is that what’s in store for Robert and Karen?

He can’t help but think of himself and Sarah in the same situation. They’ve become friends over the years since she joined him in the Labyrinth, and he can’t help but notice how well they complement each other. Her dark to his light. Her water to his air. Her winter to his summer. He finds it increasingly difficult to keep from touching her, indulging himself far too often in friendly nudges and the occasional brush of his hand against her shoulder. But he won’t take it further; not when she’s planning to leave. If their relationship never begins, it will never have the opportunity to fail. 

The light is on in Sarah’s old room, a rarity these days. Karen goes in on occasion to dust and vacuum, but the room is left otherwise undisturbed. Tonight, Karen and Robert are in the room together. 

There is a stubborn set to Robert’s jaw as Karen opens the closet door and begins removing boxes. She looks at Robert as she sets each one down and he shakes his head. Curious, Jareth moves closer to hear what they’re saying.

“Definitely not any of the stuffies that were on the wall,” Karen says setting down a large box labelled “The Court of Camelot” in what he assumes is Sarah's handwriting. He can't imagine anyone in the house labeling the box in such a way.

“Definitely,” Robert agrees.

Karen reaches into the closet for another box and sets it on the bed. As she lifts the flaps, Jareth can see it is labelled “Toys,” but this is written in a different hand. Karen holds up a music box that Jareth immediately recognizes. It is the one with the princess who so closely resembles Sarah. He knows well the tune it plays.

“No,” Robert says, his voice firm.

“But didn’t Linda give it to her?”

Robert’s jaw clenches and Karen sets the music box on the nearby vanity.

“She said she only wanted two or three things of Sarah’s,” Karen says. “It’s the least we can do.”

“If it’s so important to her, why did she wait so long to ask?”

Karen only gives him a look that says, “You know why.”

He ignores the look and continues, “It’s been thirteen years. If Linda wanted something of Sarah’s, she should have visited her more often.” The words “when she had the chance” remain unsaid.

“That’s not fair, Robert,” Karen says as gently as possible. “She couldn’t have known…”

“She’s her _mother_ , Karen. She had a responsibility.”

“What about this, then?” Karen asks, dodging the argument and lifting a statuette that looks a lot like Jareth himself. 

“Absolutely not,” Robert says.

“You have to choose something!” Karen says, exasperated.

“Not that. Jeremy has a teenage daughter.”

“So?”

“Not. That.” The color has drained from Robert’s face.

Karen, puzzled, reluctantly lays the statuette on the bed. Jareth can sense her growing frustration.

“Fine. The music box,” Robert says as he moves further into the room, scooping up the music box from the vanity and a stuffed princess doll from the open box. He moves items around in the box for a moment, a puzzled look on his face. “Where is that one stuffed animal? The monster with the horns. It used to be on her dresser.”

Karen looks at the dresser and the empty spot where a doll that resembled the rock caller used to sit. 

Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times before she finally answers, her voice hardly above a whisper, “I… I think Sarah took it with her.”

Robert pauses, his expression agonized. “I can’t do this,” he says, shaking his head and pressing the toys he’s picked up into Karen’s arms. “Give these to Linda. Tell her I don’t want to hear from her again.”

Robert pushes his way out of the room and out of the house. Jareth watches him as he rushes down the street, his shoulders hunched against the evening chill.

Any doubts about the timing of Sarah’s dreamwalk are silenced. They need this. The sooner the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story.
> 
> Acknowledgments:  
> In addition to _Labyrinth_ , this work is inspired by the Gary Jules cover of the song "Mad World," by Tears for Fears, a prompt from the Livejournal Labyfic community, and by my friend M. who will probably not read this, but should be acknowledged nonetheless.
> 
> This story has been beta'd by Aurora Kemanche and Exulansis, both of whom I'd like to thank for their friendship, time, ideas, and general awesomeness.
> 
> _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


	8. The Dreams in which I'm Dying

_Jareth moves from sleep to wakefulness in an instant. There is no moment of grogginess or confusion. He knows exactly where he is, the white and gold of Elga’s room not surprising to him in the least. It is also no surprise that Elga is gone. She never stays after, and it doesn’t occur to him to mind._

_The gameboard is still set up where they had left it on the far side of the room. It’s a deceptively simple game of strategy. It had taken her only moments to teach him, but he has not yet won a single game. His goal is to surround her white stones with his black ones, taking as many prisoners as he can along the way, but she always manages to gain the upper hand. The challenge is refreshing, and though he is determined to one day defeat her, for now he is content to learn from her._

_He has begun to pick up on her tricks and incorporate her strategies into his own repertoire, and she no longer wins in just a few moves. However, she has started to defend herself in different ways; ways that take them away from the game board and to her bed. It is a strategy of which he strongly approves, and one that he is also eager to employ. In fact, they rarely finish a game anymore, both of them preferring to ensure they both finish the evening feeling victorious._

_He rises from her bed, softer and warmer than his own straw-stuffed mattress and goes to the gameboard. The pieces are exactly where they had left them, his black stones outnumbering her white. He knows this is no sign that he would have won; the game can turn in an instant, and he has no doubt she would have turned it. But he has no regrets about how the game had turned out. He stretches his arms, feeling the pull of the muscles in his back, knowing he’ll be sore in a few hours when the intensity of their exercise catches up to him._

_“She is really quite taken with you, my love.”_

_Jareth is startled, but hopes he has managed to hide his surprise at Warrin’s intrusion. He turns and sees the diminutive man settled in a side-chair by the bed. Jareth is certain he hadn’t been there a moment earlier._

_“Mm,” Jareth says, noncommittally, turning his back on the game and approaching Warrin’s chair._

_Jareth stands naked, refusing to cover himself. Shame will do him no good here, he remembers. Warrin is quite aware of Jareth’s relationship with Elga, as is every one of Warrin’s Soirée guests, and so there is no sense in hiding anything._

_“She has become such an unhappy thing,” Warrin continues. “You are just what she needs, I think.”_

_Jareth can feel his heart rate increase. While Warrin was ignoring his trysts with Elga, he felt comfortable visiting these private rooms, playing their games. He and Elga are entertainment to each other, nothing more, and these kinds of relationships are common amongst the Soirée guests. But Jareth can sense that Warrin is leading up to something, and he suspects it will be unpleasant._

_“It warms my heart to see her interested in something again,” he says with what appears to be a genuine smile._

_“And you as well,” he continues. “If I recall, you had become quite bored with my Soirée.” His tone is accusatory. “Bored people are so dull, don’t you think? I am pleased to see you both enjoying yourselves.”_

_An idea occurs to him; Jareth can see it light up his eyes. “I think I shall give her a gift,” Warrin says, jovially._

_"What do you think, lovely?” Warrin asks as he stands from his chair and approaches Jareth. “A gift for my wife, my pulse, the love of my life.” He lists his terms of endearment slowly and places his hand to his chest as if that is where Elga resides._

_Jareth’s senses scream at him to be on his guard. That Elga hates her husband is no secret, nor any exaggeration. A gift from him is the last thing she would want. “Your wife,” Jareth begins, “does not seem the type that appreciates gifts.”_

_“Ah, you may be right, my love. You know her quite well, then?”_

_“It is difficult to say. She is a complex woman,” Jareth responds. He suspects he hasn’t even scratched the surface of what there is to know about her._

_“Indeed she is. Perhaps just a small gift then. A blessing on the two of you, that your acquaintanceship may long be amusing to you both.”_

_Warrin places his ruddy hands just under Jareth’s ears, pulling him down toward himself. There is no point resisting. Jareth bends at the waist, and when Warrin brings himself closer, Jareth closes his eyes. He is surprised to feel the gentlest of kisses on his left eye._

_Jareth opens his eyes and looks at the short man. Warrin looks pleased, smiling widely before he releases Jareth and backs away. Jareth straightens and blinks a couple of times, trying to rid himself of the strange feeling in his eye._

_“There you are, my love,” Warrin croons. “She’ll like that quite well.”_

_“What have you done?”_

_“I’ve given her access to your kingdom, of course. She can now use your eye to see what she’s missing out in the world. It has been ages since she’s taken an interest in anything. Perhaps she’ll want to visit you in your Labyrinth and lift this ridiculous ban on leaving the Soirée. I would do almost anything to make her happy, you see.” Warrin turns to leave, but before he can open the door, Jareth stops him._

_“Almost anything?” Jareth asks. “What is it you won’t do?”_

_“The one thing she wants.”_

_“Which is…?”_

_Warrin laughs, the sound clear and joyful. “Oh, my love, she wants what every woman wants: the only thing she can’t have.” He steps out the door, closing it behind him._

_Jareth represses a shiver and with just a gesture, he makes himself presentable for the Soirée. He dresses more formally for Warrin’s never-ending gathering than he does for a normal day in the Labyrinth. His jet-black frock coat is trimmed with small bits of crystal and mirror and his white kid trousers are tucked into leather boots. A lacy cravat adorns his neck, hiding the pendant of his office._

_He leaves Elga’s room and seeks her out in the Soirée hoping to entice her back to finish their game._

_He finds her easily enough, lounging in a chair watching the other guests dance and carouse, a faint look of antipathy twisting her mouth. She’s beautiful, despite her sour expression, and Jareth understands how Warrin might have fallen in love with her._

_She looks up at him as he approaches, her mouth turning up into a smile of welcome before quickly sliding off her face, replaced by suspicion and contempt._

_“What has he done?” she asks._

_“Warrin seems to feel that I make you happy,” he says. He is not ashamed of this; perhaps he does make Elga happy. There are worse things, surely._

_“Oh, Jareth,” she says regretfully as she stands. She reaches up to hold his face in her hands, the caress similar to the way Warrin had held him, and looks into his eyes. He can see the way she looks at one of his eyes, then the other, and the look of comprehension that dawns on her face. She does not pull him down as Warrin did to kiss his eye. Instead, she carefully, gently, and sweetly kisses his mouth. It is chaste and so unlike the kisses they had shared only hours earlier. “You fool,” she says as she pulls away from him, her voice hard and her expression harder. She walks away from him and doesn’t look back._

_Jareth watches her as she leaves, his left eye twinging. He steps to a nearby mirror and inspects himself to see if whatever is bothering him can be removed. His eyes do not look right. They’re not quite lopsided in the way that Gerald’s had been, but the pupils aren’t even. One looks normal, the pupil a pinpoint in the Soiree’s bright lights, but the other, the left, has been blown wide, a sign of Warrin’s gift to his wife._

_“Women...”_

_Jareth looks to his right and Warrin is standing by his side, leaning against the mirror, his arms folded in front of him, watching Elga as she disappears into the crowd. He looks up at Jareth and shakes his head as if he is unable to understand what has just happened._

_Jareth blinks hard. “Can it be undone?” he asks._

_“Why on earth would I do that?”_

_“She doesn’t want this gift.”_

_“You just can’t please some people,” he sighs, softly, regretfully. “No,” he continues, louder. “A gift once given cannot be rescinded. She is free to do with it as she pleases, even if that means ignoring you forevermore._

_“What a pity,” he finishes as his face twists into a smirk. He turns from Jareth and returns to his party._

 

“Sarah.”

She furrows her brow. Accustomed to sleeping however long she likes, she doesn’t remember the last time someone actually woke her up. “Nyuung,” she manages.

“A lovely sentiment, I’m sure,” a wry voice replies. _Jareth_ , she realizes. _Of course._

“What?” she says, both more clearly and more irritably, still refusing to open her eyes.

“It’s time.”

“Time for what?” she sighs.

“Dreamwalking.”

_Oh yeah…_ Now she remembers.

She tries to sit up, still groggy, but his hand at her shoulder presses her back to her narrow, straw-filled mattress.

“No,” he says. “Don’t wake up. I’m going to give you some instructions and then you need to go back to sleep.”

She likes the idea of going back to sleep, but after the dreams she’s been having all night, she’s more than a little reluctant to let him into her head. She settles back into her bed, allowing drowsiness to overtake her. “I don’t think I want you walking in my dreams, Jareth,” she says, sleepily.

“Rest assured I will not enter uninvited, Sarah.” She can almost hear the roll of his eyes. _That’s a mercy,_ she thinks.

“Am I supposed to walk in yours?”

“No,” he says, his mood inscrutable. 

She hears him settle himself near the head of her bed. She has only a moment to wonder what he’s up to before she feels his fingers begin to run through her hair. She lifts her head, allowing him to gather her hair from the nape of her neck and drape it over the pillow. It isn’t until his fingers brush the sensitive skin on the back of her neck that she realizes he’s removed his gloves. In all the time she has known him, she’s never seen him without them. She wants to open her eyes and look, but his fingers feel good, _really_ good, and soon she’s too drowsy to continue fighting sleep. 

“Think of your family,” he says quietly.

_My family. Toby, Karen, Dad…_

They’re never far from her thoughts, but the shock at the sudden knowledge that she’s going to walk in their dreams makes her heart flutter, and she feels wakefulness roll over her.

“Shh,” Jareth calms her. She can smell him as he kneels next to her bed, leather and sunshine, but refuses to dwell on it, those thoughts leading to places other than her loved ones Above.

“Think of your family,” he repeats. “And when you see them in your dreams, reach out to them. Connect. See if they’ll let you in.”

She focuses the feel of his fingers through her hair and slowly, she begins to drift. 

_Toby,_ she thinks. _Toby..._

The first thing she notices is the sound of an angry mob, then she realizes she can see the sky. It’s the dark-blue of autumn dusk, but bright yellow lights illuminate the area, hiding the stars that should be plainly visible. She shields her eyes from the unnatural glare, no longer accustomed to artificial light. It’s a football game, she sees. Toby’s dreaming of football. But this is no dream… this is a nightmare.

 

The crowd is angry. They’re down six points with just a few seconds left in the game. Toby’s team is counting on him, and he’s not sure he can take the pressure. This whole game has been a disaster. When he does manage to get his hands on the ball, he feels like he’s running through soup. The opposing team (why can’t he remember their name?) easily tackles him. It’s impossible. They’re going to lose. And it will be all his fault. 

“Toby!”

He looks toward the sound of his name. It’s Coach, and he looks livid.

“Get your head in the game, boy!”

Coach expects a ‘Yes, sir!’ but Toby can’t manage to squeak one out.

He looks up to the stands expecting to see the disappointed faces of his mother and father. His mother looks anxious, no doubt worried about how he’ll shame her this time. His father, as usual, isn’t looking. He’s not sure which is worse.

But sitting next to them, either unnoticed or ignored by his parents, is a dark-haired girl. He remembers her, vaguely, but he recognizes her from the photographs he’s seen all his life. 

Sarah.

In a flash, he is seated next to her in the bleachers, but the crowd continues jeering as if he was still playing the game.

“You look the same,” he says without preamble, instantly regretting it. _Missing, presumed dead._ Of course she’d look the same.

Sarah startles at his sudden appearance, then looks down at herself and plucks at the t-shirt and jeans she’s wearing as if they’re a novelty to her. “I suppose so,” she answers, and then gives him a huge smile. “Well, come here!” and with that, she wraps her arms around him and hugs him tightly. “When did you get so big?” she asks, laughing.

“It just sort of happened,” he answers with a smile as he hugs her back. She hasn’t changed at all. The same smile, the same joy. She’d always been fun. He hadn’t really noticed how beautiful she’d been until just now, though. She has a spark that is missing from her photos. 

“I really miss you, Sarah.”

Sarah pulls back from their hug to look at him. “I really miss you too, Tobes.” Tobes. He’d forgotten she’d called him that. It’s a nickname he’s sure would have annoyed him, but he never got the chance to get sick of it. 

Her smile falters a little and he thinks he sees tears in her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry, Toby. You grew up, and I missed it. I wanted to be here. I promise, I did.”

“It’s ok, Sarah. I’m sure it’s not your fault,” he says, thinking that’s the right thing to say when you can’t change anything. “What happened, anyway?” He wonders if it would be insulting to ask, but figures he might not have another opportunity.

“Oh, Toby… you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she smiles wanly.

“I always thought you just walked away from the accident before anyone could see.” Sarah looks alarmed at that. “Did you?” he asks.

“No… that’s not what happened.” But she looks hesitant, like he’s not too far off. 

“I didn’t think so,” he says. “Mom and dad kept all that stuff away from me, but I found it on microfiche in the library a few years ago.

“Did you know they did an episode of _Unsolved Mysteries_ on you?”

Sarah’s draw drops. “They did what?” she asks, incredulously.

“Well, I mean… You disappeared from a moving car. No body, no blood… You made national news. Dad was pissed when they did it. I didn’t get to watch.”

He notices her cringe at the mention of her missing dead body and realizes he’s being insensitive. 

“Are you ok?” he asks.

She pauses, and he thinks that’s a sure sign that she isn’t.

“I hope to be?” she answers, haltingly, raising her voice at the end as if it was a question. 

_What’s that supposed to mean?_

“But you’re not now?” His mind whirls, the noise of the crowd now a slight buzzing in the background.

“Don’t worry about that. Things aren’t so bad. I have friends, and I’m learning a lot. But I worry about you and dad. And Karen,” she adds as an afterthought.

“It’s been hard, Sarah,” and though he feels guilty for laying all of this on her when she has just admitted that she’s not doing well, he feels the need to get it off his chest. “Things weren’t the same after you disappeared. Dad shut down, and he’s never been the same.” He looks past Sarah at their father sitting on the bleachers. She turns to look as well. Their father’s face is expressionless as he stares at the football field without really seeing it. “Mom tried for a long time to get him to talk about you, about anything really, but he won’t. It’s like…” Toby isn’t sure he should finish that sentence, but Sarah encourages him. “It’s like he died that day, too.”

Sarah flinches when he says “too,” and clutches her hands to her chest as if her heart’s breaking. There are definitely tears now. “And you,” she urges. “How about you?”

Toby is hesitant to talk about himself, not when his parents had it so much worse than he did.

“I was angry with you for a long time. Being the brother of the ‘missing girl…’” He can’t put those experiences into words. He lives in a small town; there’s no way to hide that relationship. Shaking his head, he looks back at her. “But I guess that’s not really fair to you, huh?”

He can see her trying to gather her thoughts. She clears her throat and blinks back her tears. “You’re allowed to feel the way you feel, Toby,” she finally says. “Fairness…” the word seems difficult for her to say. “...doesn’t really come into it.”

It’s the first time he’s told anyone about his anger and he hadn’t expected her, of all people, to validate his feelings. 

“You,” he begins, hesitantly. “You’re a hard act to follow.”

Sarah just looks at him, confused.

“I don’t remember much from before you disappeared. I remember little things like trips to the park or the stories you used to tell me before I went to bed...” he looks at Sarah and forces a smile. “But I’ve heard stories about you. About how smart you were and how you read all the time. You would do all those plays and I’ve heard over and over again how great your singing was. I don’t do any of that stuff.”

“Oh, Tobes! You don’t have to do any of that stuff. Your mom and dad love you…”

But Toby cuts her off. “No, that’s not it. It’s not that they want me to do the same stuff as you. It’s that I’ll never be as good as you. No matter what I do, it’s just never good enough.” He looks back at their father whose lifeless eyes haven’t strayed from the football field where the players are milling about aimlessly. The boos of the crowd seem to grow louder again.

“Toby, listen to me,” Sarah’s voice is harder than he would have expected. “I don’t know what stories you’ve been hearing, but they make me sound a lot nicer than I actually was. I wasn’t perfect; I made mistakes - huge ones! You have no idea - but eventually I learned to take responsibility for those mistakes and do my best to fix them. And that’s all anyone can ask from you: Do your best. Mom and dad will always love you. _I_ will always love you. No matter what.”

Toby has tears in his own eyes now. He’s not sure he believes her, but he’s willing to try. 

“I wish you didn’t disappear.”

Sarah looks to the sky as if she’s waiting for something to happen. After a few seconds, her expression turns wistful. “Me too, kid. So much.”

He wants to hug her again, but he’s back on the field, calling the play instead. It goes smoothly, just as it had in practice, and when he reaches the end zone, tying the game, he looks to the stands and sees Sarah and his parents cheering him on. 

The next time he looks, his parents are still there, smiling and waving at him, but Sarah is gone. He thinks his heart will always hurt a little at her absence, but he finally feels ready to carry on.

 

Karen can’t believe her luck. Thomas Bradwell is the handsomest man in Hollywood and he has chosen her to take home tonight. It feels great, she thinks, to be invited to all of the big parties, and rub elbows with the Hollywood elite. Tom’s home is beautiful and he’s treating her like a princess. He’d shown her around, made her a drink, and when she had dropped a hint that she might like to see the bedroom, he hadn’t hesitated, leading her there directly. She’s quite pleased with the way things have progressed, and as she lays on the silk sheets writhing on, around, and with this beautiful specimen of manhood, she doesn’t think life can get any better.

But that’s when the bedroom door opens, shining a bright light into the room, allowing whoever had opened that door to see exactly what is going on.

Karen squeaks and yanks the bedspread up to cover herself. Tom hadn’t mentioned anything about a girlfriend or wife! But, then, she hadn’t mentioned anything about a husband, either. The thought causes a tiny twinge of guilt. Well, Robert hadn’t wanted to be intimate in years, so who cared if she got a little on the side?

It isn’t a wife or a girlfriend at the door, though. The dark-haired girl with the bright green eyes stares at her, mouth agape, for only a moment, before blushing deeply and turning to leave. The twinge of guilt immediately turns into a stab. _Sarah_ would care.

Karen had wanted so much for Sarah to love her. It had been rough-going for the first couple years, and then Toby had come along and things got significantly worse. Their relationship had been improving up until the day Sarah disappeared, and Karen knows she will always have guilt that they never had the mother-daughter relationship she had dreamed of.

Without a glance at her partner, Karen grabs a bathrobe she hadn’t seen earlier and calls out for Sarah to wait. To her surprise, Sarah does.

“Sarah, I’m so sorry you saw that. I didn’t think anyone…”

Sarah raises her hands in a placating gesture. “No, no, Karen. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I didn’t think…” She glances back toward the bedroom and shudders. “Sorry,” she repeats.

“What happened, Sarah? Where did you go?”

Sarah sighs as if saddened by the question. “Would you believe me if I said the fairies came and took me away?” 

Karen gives her a skeptical look. “You and your fairy stories,” she says, shaking her head slightly as if she’s amused by the idea.

“Yeah... didn’t think so,” Sarah says. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m trying to get back, but it’s taking longer than I thought it would.”

“But why? Why did you leave?”

“I didn’t want to! I swear! It just sort of… happened. But me and a friend, we’re trying to fix it. Just give us more time, ok?”

“Sarah, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, I know it doesn’t.” She sighs again, as if having a difficult time expressing her thoughts. She continues. “Where I am, time isn’t measured as well as it is here. I didn’t know so much of it had passed. Toby’s in college now?”

“High school,” Karen corrects.

“That’s crazy,” Sarah says. “He was four when I left. How could I have missed so much?”

Karen reflects on that for a moment. Sarah had missed so much more than just Toby growing up. “You’d be in your thirties now,” Karen says, absently, staring at a spot just over Sarah’s shoulder. “You’d have your degree, a career, maybe even a family. You should have had all those things.” She’d had so much potential. Where had it all gone?

“Listen, Sarah,” she continues. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that we didn’t get along better when I married your father, but I’m glad - I’m so glad - that we became friends later. You really were a daughter to me and I love you.”

Sarah seems stunned by her declaration, but she recovers quickly. “Well, you can’t be blamed for the first part. That was all me. I could have been nicer. I could certainly have been less dramatic. I’m sorry about that.” She pauses before continuing. “I’m glad that dad found you after mom left. He needed you, I think. And I think you did a great job with Toby. He’s a great kid, and I’m so glad I had a little brother.”

Karen smiles, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders.

Sarah turns to leave, but pauses before smiling over her shoulder and finishing. “And I love you, too.” Sarah gives her one last brilliant smile before rounding a corner and vanishing from sight.

Feeling lighter and happier than she has in years, Karen returns to the bedroom, which now resembles the one in her own home. She lets the bathrobe fall to the floor and crawls into bed. Tom is gone, but someone better is in his place. She curls up against her husband, and falls into a deeper sleep.

 

Robert is trying not to panic. Golf is supposed to be fun, he reminds himself. People do this all the time. But something had gone wrong during his game, and he finds himself alone on this awful course. His fellow players took a detour somewhere a few holes back and he is no longer sure where they are. They’ve abandoned him. The weather has turned hot and muggy and he can see a threatening storm rolling in from the distance. He can’t quit now, though, not when he’s made it this far. He takes another swing and only manages to hit the dense turf beside his ball.

“Dad!”

He’d know that voice anywhere, but can’t quite believe he’s heard it. He looks around and, sure enough, there she is, walking toward him. Shocked, he drops his club and takes a few tentative steps toward her. She’s smiling as she comes nearer and he can’t wait to close the distance. He runs to her, wrapping her in a long, tight hug, and he feels her put her arms around his neck just like she did when she was a little girl. He remembers that she had done that less as she got older, and he wasn’t sure how to react the few times she did. Now, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to ever let her go.

He’s babbling. He can hear himself trying to explain to her how he needs to finish this game. It is so important that he finish it. “Once you quit, you can never go back,” he explains. “It’s lost forever.”

His arms are still around her when he pulls back to look at her face. She’s beautiful, just as he remembers her. Her mother was beautiful, too, but it was as if nature had taken only the very best parts of him and Linda to create this incredible creature. But she looks sad and he’s not sure why. She’s back and things are finally okay again.

“Dad, I think this game is over.” She’s looking at the black clouds that are coming closer at alarming speed.

His heart breaks when she says it, but he knows she’s right. A few fat raindrops have begun hitting the ground around him. He pulls himself together and moves his hands to her face. He needs to touch her, to memorize her features, and remind himself of all of the little things about her he might forget. It’s then that he realizes that she doesn’t look the same. Oh, she’s still young. Still the nineteen year old she had been when he last saw her, but the little scar on her forehead from where she crashed her bike when she was eight is gone, and so is the tiny mole under her left ear. 

“Remember what you used to say when I was little? About storms?” He remembers, but her voice is calm and he wants to listen. He wants to hear her say it. “They’re scary when they hit, but after they pass, things are much better. The air is cooler and drier, and the rain will make everything green. Things will be better after the storm.”

He nods, knowing she’s right. “This is backward,” he says. “I should be comforting you. It’s my job.”

She smiles reluctantly. “I’m ok, Dad. Don’t worry about me.”

He needs another long look before he lets her go. He hadn’t done that enough, before she left. He regrets that and is thankful that she allows him this. Finally, he turns from her and looks back at the golf course. He can see where he has come from, but he won’t go any further. _This game is over._

The storm front is over them now. It’ll be a nasty one, he knows.

He turns back to her. “I love you, Sarah-girl. Always will.”

She gives him a big smile now. “I love you too, Dad. Forever.”

He faces the storm just as it really hits, buffeting him with wind and rain. He lifts his chin, closing his eyes and focusing on the feel of the water as it hits his face. He looks to Sarah one last time, his fatherly instincts demanding he ensure she is safe, but she is no longer there.

He raises his arms to the sky and embraces the storm.

 

Robert Williams opens his eyes to see the red clock face glowing 1:24 AM, but he feels as if he’s been asleep for an eternity. He can feel Karen beside him, her back turned to him.

His wife. She’d stayed by his side all this time. He reaches for her, cradling her against him, holding her in a way he hasn’t done for years, trying to take comfort in her presence. Though he is careful not to wake her, she stirs anyway.

“Robert?” she mumbles, confused, as she turns over to face him.

“She’s gone, Karen,” he says, and he can feel his carefully constructed armor crumble. “Sarah...” His voice cracks when he says his daughter’s name. “She’s _gone._ ”

In the arms of his wife, Robert Williams breaks, releasing the pain he’s held in for thirteen years.

 

Sarah can feel Jareth still running his fingers through her hair as she wakes, calming her and bringing her back to herself. She doesn’t think she’s been so exhausted in her life, and she realizes that must have been why Jareth made her sleep first. She knows she won’t be able to keep her eyes open for more than a minute, but she also feels more at peace than she has for years. Talking to her family, ensuring they are all right, has lifted a weight she hadn’t realized was so heavy.

“Jareth,” she says, and even she is surprised at how weak her voice sounds. She turns her head so she can see him kneeling next to her.

“Yes?”

“Come closer?”

He does, hovering just next to her pillow.

Gently, she lays a small kiss on his lips. She hopes he won’t mind. The gratitude she feels is overwhelming, and it is the only way she can show it in her exhausted state.

If he responds, she doesn’t hear it; she has already fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story.
> 
> Acknowledgments:  
> In addition to _Labyrinth_ , this work is inspired by the Gary Jules cover of the song "Mad World" by Tears for Fears, a prompt from the Livejournal Labyfic community, and by my friend M. who will probably not read this, but should be acknowledged nonetheless.
> 
> This story has been beta'd by Aurora Kemanche and Exulansis, both of whom I'd like to thank for their friendship, time, ideas, and general awesomeness. I know I say this in every chapter's end notes, but seriously. These two are so amazing, they blow my mind. If haven't yet read their stories, I urge you to do so.
> 
> _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


	9. Going Nowhere

An ache at the base of Sarah’s skull throbs with each beat of her heart as memories swirl in her waking mind. She had always imagined being happily reunited with her family, easily falling into old patterns and behaviors. A quick hug, a joke, and a laugh. Dinner at the table. Easy banter between the four of them. She hadn’t expected the hurt, the regret, or the despair.  
_  
I was angry with you…_

_Where did you go..._

_You can never go back…_  
  
It had quickly become apparent that she couldn’t share what had really happened to her on that sunny day in August when she’d left home to start her own life. Her family was dealing with so much pain of their own, she couldn’t bear to add to it.  
_  
You’re a hard act to follow…_

_You’d have your degree, a career, maybe even a family…_

_I should be comforting you…_  
  
She had hoped to give them good news, let them know that she was fighting to get back to them, but when she found herself in the moment, it suddenly struck her that what her family needed, more than anything, was to be relieved their burdens. Jareth hadn’t just given her a chance to see her family; he’d given them a chance for closure. She wonders if he knows how badly they’d needed this.  
_  
I wish you didn’t disappear…_

_You really were a daughter to me…_

_I love you, Sarah-girl…_  
  
The pain brings her closer to consciousness as it begs to be addressed. She opens her eyes, and immediately regrets it. Her head is pounding, and the light from the open balcony doors pierces her skull. She groans and throws her arm over her eyes. Even that little move is agony. She wants to roll onto her side and bury her head under her pillow, protecting herself from the light, but she can’t move. 

She hears a light clicking sound, and can see through her eyelids when the room dims. She cracks her eyes open and can see that the doors have been covered with heavy curtains. It’s Jareth’s work, obviously; she’d never bothered to decorate. The man himself is walking towards her, concern written across his features. She notices that his gloves are back on his hands, and she regrets that she missed seeing him without them. He spins a crystal out of the air and transforms it into a mug. The scent of rich broth fills her nose, and her mouth waters.

She tries to sit up, but a wave of vertigo hits her and forces her to close her eyes until her head stops spinning.

“You’ve exhausted yourself,” Jareth says quietly, setting the mug on the table by her bed. “It will take a while to recover.”

“How long was I asleep?” Her voice is hoarse.

“Two days.”

“I was in their dreams for two days?” 

“No. I would be surprised if you were able to maintain contact with their dreams for more than just a few minutes. You’ve been unconscious the rest of the time.”

Well, that explains why she hadn’t been able to stay in her dad’s dream any longer. She hadn’t quite been ready to go when she’d found herself floating in that strange ethereal state between dreaming and waking.

“Were you watching?” she asks, already knowing the answer. 

“Not the dreams, no.” She blushes slightly remembering how she’d expressed her wish that he not enter her dreams. She’s glad he respected her privacy, but she hopes she hasn’t offended him.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck,” she groans. “Help me?” She lifts her hand to him and he takes it and allows her to pull herself into a sitting position. 

“Is that for me?” she asks pointing her chin at the mug. “It smells good.”

“Of course,” he says as he lifts the mug from the table and hands it to her. She inhales the steam, savoring the aroma. She’s starving, but her head hurts so badly that she feels nauseated. She wonders if she’ll be able to hold down even something as basic as broth. She sips. It is hot, rich, and delicious, and she begins to feel better right away. She takes a longer drink.

“When can we get back to work?” she asks. She’s in no fit state to begin right away, but she’s eager to continue progressing. She had been startled by how much time had passed Above. Her family had aged considerably, and it alarms her.  
  
_You’d be in your thirties now…_  
  
It doesn’t feel possible, and it plants a seed of anxiety that she can feel quickly growing. She’s built her section of the Labyrinth, and she has learned a lot, but she knows she has a long way to go. How is she supposed to master her powers before her parents get old and…?

No. She isn’t even going to think it. She’s going to get back to work and she is going to come into her powers properly. She is going to earn her crown and then she is going to go home. It has to work out. It has to.

“It will be a few more days yet before you can begin practicing magic again,” Jareth explains. “In the meantime, you should begin to work on your lure.”

“What’s that?” Sarah asks, puzzled.

“The item you will send Above that will give mortals the words they need to call you to them.”

_Your right words_ , she thinks. “ _The Labyrinth._ That was your lure, wasn’t it?”

“Drink,” he says in reply. She takes another sip of the broth, knowing she’s right.

“I suppose I’m going to need to learn how to make paper, ink, and pens, then?”

Jareth smiles at her and she can see a shadow of his familiar mischievous demeanor. He’s been taking it easy with her, and it’s nice to see him returning to his normal self. “Now you’re getting it.”

“Fine, fine…” She waves him off and takes another long drink of the hot broth.

“As you’re learning how to make the materials, be thinking of what you want the book to say,” he advises. “There are rules that must be followed.”

“And they are…?”

“Quite simple,” Jareth says. 

Sarah rolls her eyes.

“Firstly, you must refer to yourself by your title. The magic will only allow the Goblin King or the Goblin Queen to be called Above. Refuse your title, and you refuse the magic.”

“I guess I expected that one,” she says.

“Secondly, you will be forever bound by what you write in the book.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means take your time and choose your story carefully. Your lure defines the rules of your game. If you find yourself unhappy with those rules, you will not be able to change them.”

She sips her broth and thinks over Jareth’s warning.

“So you can’t change _The Labyrinth_?”

“It is out of my hands,” he says.

“Can I change it?”

He narrows his eyes, his gaze questioning.

“I mean, can I take your story and build onto it? Like a sequel?” she clarifies.

Jareth thinks it over before finally answering, “Will you agree to allow me to read your sequel before sending it Above?”

“Yeah, sure. I guess.” Jareth is in negotiation mode, and she knows she should be more careful, but her head is throbbing and the thought of starting a story from scratch is daunting. 

She sets her mug on her side table, too tired to finish it.

“I’m sorry, Jareth,” she says, yawning. “I’m just so tired. Do you mind if I just…”

“Sleep,” he says. “You need rest to fully recover. I’ll be here when you wake.” 

It’s a comfort to her, knowing he’ll be there. She settles back into her bed, closing her eyes. A memory comes to her then. She’d briefly woken after her dreamwalk with her dad. Jareth had been sitting by her bed, just where he’d been when she’d fallen asleep, running his fingers through her hair. And then she remembers the smell of sunshine and leather as he leaned toward her, how she’d closed the short distance between them, and the feel of soft, surprised lips against her own. Her heart leaps into her throat and she’s glad she’s already laying down with her eyes closed. It saves her the embarrassment of having to face him.

She mentally kicks herself for being so impulsive. They’d come a long way since she’d first arrived Underground. At this point, she would count him among her closest friends. It had been just a small kiss; surely, she could defend it as platonic. He hadn’t mentioned it. Maybe he’d already written it off, dismissing it as just a friendly gesture, and they could just carry on doing what they’ve always been doing. 

There’s safety in that idea, but it fills her with an emotion that she can’t quite describe. Disappointment? Sadness? 

What if she admitted her interest in him? What would he say? What would he do?

She’s just so tired; she wishes her mind would slow down and allow her to rest. She makes a conscious effort to stop dwelling on the kiss, preferring to pull up those old, familiar fantasies that go so far beyond small kisses. 

She calms, and finally, she sleeps.

 

Jareth hadn’t been exaggerating when he said it would take a while for her to recover. Nearly a week passes before she feels strong enough to leave her room. 

She still feels annoyed that the plumbing situation in the castle is so, well, non-existent. She remembers hoping for a nice Jacuzzi bath once upon a time, and laughs at the memory. Long ago, she learned how to keep herself clean using only magic, and while she could easily go indefinitely without bathing and never look, feel, or smell dirty, she prefers a good bath, and frequently. Her daily ablutions usually include going to her favorite deep pools to bathe, but occasionally, when she is feeling particularly indulgent, she summons a large wooden tub to her room, filling it with hot water so she can have a nice, long soak. She indulges in one of these baths today, preparing to leave her room for the first time since her exhausting dreamwalk.

She had found that learning the magic to do these things wasn’t particularly difficult. It was simply a matter of understanding the process behind it. Unfortunately, her experiences as a mortal don’t seem to count. She had understood quite well how to carry a tub to her room, build a fire, heat water, and every other tiny step necessary to have a hot bath, but until she did it on her own, Underground, the magic had remained out of reach.

After her bath, she brushes her hair until it is sleek and shiny, then wraps herself in her long piece of linen, pulling the hood over her head, though she doesn’t need the protection outside her ice labyrinth. It’s not a bad design, she thinks, but she knows it’s time to update and polish it. The silk from the worm family has been collected, and she has made several pots of dye to eventually color the fabric she weaves from it. 

During her recovery, she had decided the time had come to properly acclimate to the castle. It’s been years and she still doesn’t feel truly comfortable within its walls. Instead of transporting directly from her room into the Labyrinth, she begins wandering the corridors, and learning her way. In the corridor where her room is located, she finds several bedchambers, similar to how hers had looked when she’d first arrived. They’re all small and simple, and clearly unused. It appears that Jareth doesn’t get much company, and she wonders why he ever bothered to build them. As she moves into other corridors, the rooms become larger, grander, and more lavishly decorated. She knows it’s petty, but she feels a small amount of irritation that Jareth put her in such a small, poorly furnished room when he has these much nicer rooms sitting empty. 

The Castle Beyond the Goblin City is easily as complicated as the Labyrinth itself, but she has grown accustomed to navigating the twists and turns of Jareth’s kingdom. What she has not grown accustomed to is the accumulated debris of years of living with goblins. As she wanders the corridors, she wonders how Jareth tolerates it. She has lived alongside him for years and he is always immaculate: boots shined and clothing spotless. She’s never seen his sleeping chamber - she’s not even sure where it is - but she is certain it doesn’t look anything like the rest of the castle.

Her thoughts are interrupted when she steps on a particularly sharp chicken feather. Her feet are tough, but it manages to prick her, and she curses in irritation. Suddenly, she knows her next project. She’ll need a broom, a bucket, and some soap.

She is grateful, and not for the first time, that she has access to these basic supplies. She has developed a deep appreciation for what Jareth must have gone through when he was in her place, trying to come into his own powers. He hadn’t had the advantage of pre-made tools and materials. 

She remembers the location of the kitchen and knows she’ll find her supplies there. But rather than teleport directly there, she decides to continue her exploration, opening doors in each corridor through which she passes. 

The corridor she’s in seems to contain a series of identical rooms, each one containing a rough-hewn table and wooden chair. She checks each door, peeking inside each room to see what they contain, wondering for what purpose all of the rooms had been built. She considers giving up on the corridor entirely, hoping to find something more interesting on the next floor down. 

She opens one last door and finds a study. Warm sunlight shines off the intricately carved woodwork that trims dozens of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. An enormous desk dominates the center of the space. Behind it, a comfortable-looking chair invites her to sit. 

She enters the room, intrigued by the differences between it and the many others she’s seen so far. She wonders at first if this is one of Jareth’s private spaces, but quickly rejects the idea. The study is abnormally clean, especially in comparison to the rest of the castle - even the rooms the goblins avoid are covered in dust - but it has an abandoned feel to it, as if no one has entered it in years. The fireplace on one wall lies cold and unused, free of dust or ash. She inspects the bookshelves and is disappointed to find them all empty. 

She misses books. She’d been so wrapped up in building her Labyrinth that she had given no thought to entertainment; she simply hadn’t had the time. But she misses the feel of a heavy hardback novel and the smell of dusty old pages. A castle this size must have a library somewhere, and she resolves to find it.

The room is so inviting that she decides to indulge in a rest. She sits in the chair at the desk and looks around her. If Jareth never uses the room, she might want to use it as her personal study. The chair is comfortable and the light is good; she might enjoy writing her book here. She turns her attention to the enormous desk and begins opening its many drawers wondering if she might find any pens or paper in it. Most of them are empty, but in the bottom drawer, she finds something.

A book.

With a gasp and a grin of anticipation, she lifts the book from the drawer, admiring it’s green leather binding. She reads the title on the front cover: _A New English and Gaelic Vocabulary_. Disappointed, she realizes that it’s just a dictionary. Despite the title, the book has to be over a hundred years old. She looks in its pages for a copyright or printing date, but finds none.

She closes the book and look around at the room. It feels out of place in the dirty stone castle. As she studies the sunlight streaming in from the window, she realizes she can’t see any dust motes floating through it. The air is clean. Too clean. It unnerves her.

Standing to leave, she picks up the dictionary and tucks it under her arm. She’ll return it to the library whenever she finds it. If she’s going to clean up the castle, she may as well begin with this simple task.

Rejecting thoughts of using the study in the future, she’s relieved when she closes the door behind her. The room, though beautiful, is oppressive in a way she can’t quite define. She continues down the corridor, opening each door and finding nothing else even remotely like the study.

She’s two floors down when she opens a door that causes all thoughts of the odd study to flee her mind. Behind the door is a large room filled with musical instruments. Several large windows along one wall lend the room a brightness she has only seen in her own space upstairs. The room contains instruments she’s familiar with - a grand piano, cello, violin, and clarinet, to name a few - and many, many instruments she has never seen before in her life. She wanders the room, occasionally running her fingers over the instruments, leaving long trails in the dust that has accumulated on them. What surprises her the most is the inclusion of several guitars. While most look ancient, a few are clearly modern in design. She dares not touch the older ones - “lutes,” she thinks they’re called - but is too tempted to resist plucking the strings on the newer models. Their notes ring out in the quiet room, reverberating pleasantly around her.

Pleased with herself, she continues exploring, but as she completes her circuit of the room, she feels drawn to one instrument above all of the others. Setting the dictionary on the floor next to the piano, she pulls out the bench and seats herself, lifting the lid that covers the keyboard. It’s beautiful beneath all of the dust, with a shiny black finish and keys that she is pretty sure are made of genuine ivory and ebony. She runs her fingers over the keys, enjoying their smooth, cool feel before pressing a few. The sound is harsh, grating to her ears, and breaks the enchantment. The instrument, beautiful though it may be, has been neglected and is desperately in need of tuning and repair.

Disappointed, she reminds herself that she needs to get back to work. She needs to be learning, not playing. However, as she leaves, closing the door behind her, she promises herself that she will return to this room. 

She continues down the corridor until she notices strains of music coming from below. Abandoning her exploration once again, she makes her way toward the sound and finds herself just outside Jareth’s throne room. She peeks around the corner and finds, to her delight, that Jareth is playing with the goblins. 

She’s never seen anything like it and wonders if this is what she’s been missing all these years by avoiding the castle. The little creatures are hanging off every surface of the room, completely enthralled with their king’s antics. They bounce around, laughing and hooting, singing along when and if they know the words. Jareth is in the center of it all, singing and dancing to a song she’s never heard before. It’s an upbeat number, a rock song of all things, and before she knows it, her feet are tapping.

Jareth spots her, and with a devilish grin, he makes his way toward her, swinging his hips in time with the music. He sweeps her up in his dance, holding her around the waist with one arm, while using his swagger stick to gesture wildly at the cheering, singing goblins. She manages to keep up with his footwork while he spins her around the room. She is dizzy and giddy, but she doesn’t fail to notice that he has eyes only for her. His gaze is locked on her as he continues his song, launching into another round of the chorus. 

The music continues after the chorus, but Jareth stops singing, stops dancing, allowing the goblins to continue on without him. Both of his arms are at her waist now, and the look in his eyes has intensified.

She thinks she’ll let him kiss her, if he wants, and she can’t help but think back on the small kiss she’d given him after her dreamwalk. Could that one impulsive move have initiated this? Could he want her the way she wants him? 

He’s going to do it, she thinks, her heart beating faster, and the world seems to stand still as he moves one of his hands from her waist to gently cup her cheek. Her breath catches as she looks into his eyes, the way she often does in her dreams, only she notices that the pupil of his right eye is dilated, nearly matching the left. He returns her gaze, the intensity nearly burning her, before his eyes dip to her mouth. The leather of his glove feels exceptionally soft against her skin as she leans into it, just a little, and allows her eyes to flutter closed.

The music abruptly stops and Sarah’s eyes fly open in time to see Jareth’s look of disappointment as he pulls away from her. Baffled and slightly hurt, Sarah looks around to see if she can make sense of what is happening.

The demeanor of the goblins has changed entirely. Their singing and hooting has changed to a sinister hissing, chittering sound. No longer the little fun-loving scamps they’d been only a moment earlier, they have turned ominous and frightening. She is reminded of the goblins who teased her in her parents’ bedroom so many years ago.

_What did I do?_ she wonders. 

“It’s a wish,” Jareth says, answering her unspoken question. “We have to go.”

Several of the goblins are already gone before he gives her one last regretful look and disappears, transporting himself Above to answer the call of someone who has wished away a child.

Almost instantly, a few goblins return with an infant, who, to Sarah’s surprise, they hand off to her so quickly that she stumbles and nearly falls over.

The child, dressed in only a diaper and a dirty pink t-shirt, is crying so hard that she has started to hiccup. Sarah puts her on her shoulder and begins patting her back, crooning in what she hopes is a soothing way. She’s surprised when the child calms at once. She looks over her shoulder and finds a goblin making googly-eyes at the baby. The little girl begins to laugh, and Sarah is delighted. She turns to face the goblin and shifts the baby so they can both watch its antics. Several goblins are now getting in on the fun, bouncing over each other and making silly noises to make the baby giggle, and Sarah can’t help but laugh as well.

She runs her free hand over the baby’s fiery red hair. It curls tightly against her scalp, making her look like a tiny Orphan Annie, and Sarah thinks how beautiful it will be as the girl grows. The baby is cute in that way that babies have, and her eyes are an unusual and striking shade of coppery brown that matches her red hair. Untucking an end of the cloth that she has wrapped around her, Sarah uses it to wipe the child’s tears, adding a little magic to clean smudges of dirt off her face. The little girl grudgingly allows it, her attention only momentarily diverted from the goblins who are falling over themselves to entertain her. 

Sarah’s good mood evaporates when Jareth returns, and she sees the expression on his face. Something has gone wrong.

He’s wearing the black armor and billowing cape he’d worn when she’d first met him; the pendant of his office is settled in the center of his chest. She and Jareth had become friends since she’d been trapped here and she’d forgotten who he really was. He approaches her, every inch the intimidating Goblin King she’d met so long ago, and she wonders how she could have been so careless. 

She clutches the baby closer to herself.

“Jareth? What is it?” She knows she’s in denial. He was back too quickly for the wisher to have decided to try to get the baby back. She knows exactly what’s going to happen next.

“Her father has chosen his dreams,” he says as he reaches for the little girl. 

Sarah watches as his gloved hands comes toward her, her horror and panic pushing away any sense of reason or friendship. The only thing that matters is protecting the baby. 

Without a second thought, Sarah transports herself and the baby to the frog pool she found on her first day in the Labyrinth. She only paces the beach twice before Jareth catches up to her. There’s nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, but she won’t accept this. It can’t be inevitable that every baby that ends up here is turned into a monster.

“Don’t be foolish, Sarah,” and he sounds more concerned than patronizing. “You can’t stop this; the babe began changing the moment her father accepted his dreams over his daughter.”

“You can stop this, Jareth! It doesn’t have to be this way!” she shouts, desperate for him to listen and change this horrible practice. She may not know the child’s name, but she can sense her potential; she’s brimming over with it! “She could be so much. So much more than…”

Jareth is looking at her with pity. Why isn’t he angry? He should be arguing with her, telling her all the ways in which she is wrong.

“They’re happy,” he calmly insists. “That’s what’s important. You’ve seen them, Sarah. The way they play. You’ve danced with them and sung with them. They love y…”

“They’re monsters!” she shouts at him, cutting him off. She doesn’t think she can stand to hear how much the goblins love her, not when she’s moments away from letting another innocent child be transformed into one. “You take babies and turn them into monsters!” She’s crying now, clutching the child to her chest.

“Sarah, I’m warning you…”

“You’re warning me? Now? It didn’t occur to you to warn me thirteen years ago?” She doesn’t know exactly what he would have warned her about; it’s not as if she didn’t know what he did when she made that wish so many years ago. But she refuses to allow him to threaten her.

“You don’t want to see the transformation,” he finishes. It is then that she notices the worry in his voice.

She glances down at the infant to make sure she’s alright. The child is looking back at her, but her eyes have turned a jaundiced yellow and grown larger, popping out of her head unnaturally. Panicking, Sarah screams and drops the baby.

Jareth is there to catch her before she hits the ground. With the skill of centuries of practice, he flips the baby around and against his shoulder so Sarah can no longer see her face and covers the rest of her body with his cloak. The sudden movements startle the little girl and she begins howling again.

Standing on the beach, he no longer looks like the frightening Goblin King. He just looks tired.

“It is the way it is, Sarah,” he says, sounding defeated, as the baby’s crying changes to a quieter hissing sound. “I can’t change that.”

Sarah, horrified, can hardly find her voice. “You’re the king, Jareth. If you can’t fix this, who can?”

“When you are queen, you will understand.”

“No,” she says firmly. “No way, Jareth. If this is what being the king and queen of this place means, I won’t do it.”

 

The transformation is complete when Jareth returns to his throne room, and he lets the new goblin scamper off to play with the others. Her beautiful curly hair is gone, all of her features warped until she is no longer recognizable as the baby girl she once was. She’ll be happy, he knows; she’s already found playmates and is enjoying herself throwing hay and chicken feathers at her new friends.

His confrontation with Sarah had affected him more deeply than he thinks he’ll ever admit to her. He’d never considered the possibility of another person like him in the Labyrinth, and he never thought he’d have to justify the way things work. For the first time, he wonders how culpable he is in turning these children into goblins.

His grand scheme, the one he had forged with Warrin, allows him to take revenge on those who wish away the children they are supposed to love. He ensures those selfish mortals are punished. But he doesn’t control what the magic does to the children that are left behind; he only watches over them, and ensures they are happy and entertained. Goblins are simple-minded and easy to oversee. He wonders if he could handle them if they remained human. He has doubts that keeping them human is worth fighting for, even if it were a battle he knew how to fight.

His thoughts turn to the image of Sarah holding the babe. It had stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time; not since he was human himself. Desire. It wasn’t the desire he’d felt at the Soirée for so many years when he was looking for a diversion - any diversion - from the life of drudgery he’d been living. This was desire for a real connection. Sarah had become a friend, but might she one day be a lover? A wife? Might she one day honor him by carrying his child?

He fantasizes about visiting her on a sunny morning as she lies in his bed, holding a small bundle wrapped in clean, white linen. She looks at him joyfully and he looks back at her with adoration. He pulls back the linen to see the face of the child they made together and is horrified to see a goblin, its eyes yellow and its thick tongue lolling from a rubbery mouth. 

He shakes off the image.

He and Sarah straddle some unknown line between human and Fae. The human world had long since passed him by. He can navigate it, but it has become hard, gray, and unwelcoming. And while he knows there must be a world beyond the Labyrinth and beyond Warrin’s Soirée, he has never seen it. Warrin has effectively trapped him in this tiny corner of reality; the Labyrinth is the only place where he belongs. 

Jareth does not have Sarah’s promise of freedom. He is Warrin’s, and there is no expiration date on his contract. It’s a strange thought, he realizes; he’d never felt trapped before. He has nearly limitless power at his fingertips, but exploring the Underground beyond the Labyrinth has never been an option. That might be another option Sarah has that he does not. How much more of the world is there to see?

Sarah still has an opportunity to escape. She will be her own when she completes Elga’s task, if she can ever figure out what it is. He wonders how she’ll find the world if she ever returns to it. Will she embrace its changes, or will she be like him, an occasional visitor who seeks the familiarity and comfort of his kingdom?

He remembers the look in her eyes as he spun her around the throne room, dancing and singing. She has worked so hard for so many years. It was thrilling to see her let loose a little and have some fun, and even more exciting to know it was he who had put that smile on her face. 

Her happiness had been dashed today when she was faced with the hard reality of their situation. He had attracted a large number of diverse creatures to his kingdom, but this was still the Goblin Kingdom. He should never have let her forget it.

He thinks back on the sweet kiss she’d given him. In her exhausted state, she had let her guard down and her impulsive move had obliterated his carefully constructed walls. 

He knows she would have welcomed his kiss as they danced in the throne room. She would have allowed him to move their relationship past friendship, into something more permanent, more fulfilling. The thought that she might choose to stay with him and be his queen not only in name, but in thought and deed, exhilarates him. That dream had finally felt within his grasp, just as it now feels as if it is slipping through his fingers. 

Her refusal to take the crown will keep her with him in the Labyrinth, but the bitterness that he knows will develop will prevent any kind of relationship between them.

He needs to get away from the castle, away from the Labyrinth, away from the world in which Warrin has him trapped. 

In an instant he is outside the Williams’ home. It sits empty and dark, and Jareth knows right away that it has been abandoned. Curious, he transports himself inside.

The air is stale as he wanders the front room. Most of the furniture is still here, but it has been covered with white sheets to protect it from dust. He can see the shape of picture frames underneath a sheet covering a side table. With a gesture, the sheet moves itself and he can see a display of family photos, all but one of them taken since Sarah’s disappearance. He lifts the oldest picture from the table and examines it. It’s staged, taken indoors in front of an abstract background. Karen sits in the center holding infant Toby while Sarah and her father stand together, their hands resting on Karen’s shoulders. It’s an awkward pose, and though all four members of the family are smiling, their expressions look forced and unnatural. He replaces the photograph on the table and continues walking through the house.

There are more photographs on the refrigerator door in the kitchen. These are less formal and more genuine. They show Karen and a young Toby playing on the beach, Robert asleep on the couch, Sarah dressed as a princess. There is a photograph of the four Williamses standing together in front of a deep and impressive canyon. They are dressed for exercise, looking happy and flushed, their poses and expressions natural and happy. Another photo shows Sarah and Toby together. She had obviously taken this one herself, pointing the camera back at herself and her brother before snapping the picture. The look on her face is half joy and half concentration as she tries to ensure both she and Toby are in the frame. This photo fascinates him. He’s seen this look on her face countless times, and it is only by looking at this photo that he realizes how much Sarah has aged. She doesn’t look any older. In fact, she’ll remain frozen forever at nineteen unless and until Elga gives her back to herself. But Sarah’s eyes are different. In the photo, they are youthful and innocent. Today, they show all of the years that had passed since she’d come Underground. They’ve grown wiser… and harder.

He thinks he’d give her anything, and there is no more sobering thought than knowing the one thing she truly wants is the only thing he cannot provide. He leaves the self-portrait, but pulls the family photograph off the refrigerator.

When he turns to leave the room, he notices an envelope on the kitchen counter, Sarah’s name printed neatly in masculine handwriting - Robert’s handwriting, Jareth is sure. He lifts the envelope from the counter and examines it. It is not sealed and a single sheet of folded paper is tucked inside. Briefly, he considers reading the letter, seeing if it might help or hurt Sarah, but he checks himself before removing the paper from the envelope. He’ll do this one last favor for Robert Williams; he will deliver the letter to Sarah. 

She has been holding onto the idea that she would somehow make it home in time to see her whole family again, but if she rejects the crown, her chances of succeeding go from slim to none. Whichever path she chooses, if she refuses the crown and lives as a commoner in his Labyrinth for eternity or if she accepts the crown and becomes his queen, Jareth will hold the letter for her until the day that it becomes her only way of connecting with her human past. He creates a crystal with his free hand and encapsulates both the letter and the photograph in it. The crystal then collapses in on itself and vanishes. 

There is another floor of the house that he has not visited, but he knows what he will find. More empty rooms, more painful memorabilia.

The Williamses have done what they should have done long ago. Sarah will always be a part of this little family and she will never be forgotten. They haven’t let her go; they’ve simply moved on. 

His work here is done. He takes a final look around Sarah’s former home, and disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story.
> 
> Acknowledgments:  
> In addition to _Labyrinth_ , this work is inspired by the Gary Jules cover of the song "Mad World" by Tears for Fears, a prompt from the Livejournal Labyfic community, and by my friend M. who will probably not read this, but should be acknowledged nonetheless.
> 
> This story has been beta'd by Aurora Kemanche and Exulansis, who've both been absolute champs in helping me write and develop this story. This fic was my 2016 NaNoWriMo project and I completed November (and all but the last chapter of this story) with a rough draft of nearly 58,000 words. These finalized chapters already clock in at close to that number, but I'm only halfway done. The feedback of Aurora and Exulansis really helped me develop ideas that were only half-baked in the rough draft and I can't thank them emphatically enough for their help.
> 
> _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


	10. Dilemma

Sarah hugs her legs, chin propped up by her knee, on the flat rock next to the frog pond watching the water as it falls from basin to basin on the hillside. Sometimes, in the nicer moments - and there are some very nice moments - she forgets that she’s trapped here. She can stop thinking about the family she knows is missing her. She’s gotten quite good at compartmentalizing that feeling, knowing that all of her hard work, all of her effort, is for them. What more can she do? So sometimes, she doesn’t allow herself to think, and just lets herself experience what’s happening around her.

The Labyrinth is beautiful. She had only gotten a small glimpse of it her first time through. Thirteen hours (or less, in her case) is not nearly enough time to see everything this magnificent place has to offer. Despite her circumstances, she can’t help but feel grateful that she has had the opportunity to explore it.

And it’s not just the Labyrinth that offers her solace, either. Her friends have stood by her, encouraging and supporting her in her low moments and sharing in her moments of triumph. The other denizens of the Labyrinth have also treated her well, providing for her, though they are not required to do so.

The people here, she has come to realize, are _kind._ They look unlike any of the people she grew up with, but they have shown that goodness can come in any form.

So what of the goblins?

They’re not evil, she knows. But there is something about knowing they were once innocent children that have been twisted into this new shape, into this new mentality, that turns her stomach. Every human child is a vast well of potential. With the right motivation and opportunity, any one of them is capable of doing great things. The moment they are resigned to living Underground, though, that potential is lost.

And that’s Jareth’s fault.

She sighs and hugs her knees closer to her. It doesn’t feel good to blame him, but she’s not sure where else that blame can go. He is the highest authority in this land, and the responsibility for the goblins lies with him. And if things weren’t complicated enough, she needs his help. She knows he managed to come into his powers on his own, and she marvels at the work he has done, but she has a much narrower window of time to work with. To hear him tell it, he had no real desire to go Above ever again. Of course he’d had time to hone his powers. She doesn’t have that luxury, and she needs his help if she has any hope of getting home before her entire family…

She swallows the lump in her throat. She knows what’s at stake here; she just can’t bring herself to think too hard about it. She needs to decide what’s more important: Getting home or taking a stand.

That doesn’t feel quite right, either, though, because it’s more than just a stand. Jareth had become a friend - surely he was at least _that_ by now - and if that’s the extent of their relationship, she supposes she could cut herself off from him, at least emotionally. Take his help, but reject his friendship.

All those years ago, he’d called her cruel. At the time, she’d thought it was a flippant insult meant to outrage her, but perhaps he’d been right. 

She hates thinking about how often he’s right.

But there’s no use lying to herself; Jareth isn’t just a friend anymore. When she was fifteen, he’d made her feel uncomfortable. When she was nineteen, she’d realized why. Now, though… she can’t deny her attraction to him. But there’s always that doubt in her mind, that one nagging thought she just can’t kick, that says she’s only attracted to him because he’s her only option.

She wonders if Elga knows exactly how cruel Sarah’s situation is. Maybe. Maybe not, but it’s damned clear that Elga wouldn’t care. She’d said Sarah would be lucky if her relationship with Jareth turned romantic. She thinks back on Elga’s words, on her mannerisms during their meeting. Sarah wasn’t blind and she wasn’t dumb. Elga wasn’t saying just that Sarah would be lucky to have a relationship with Jareth. She was saying that sex with him was good.

She tries to swallow the jealousy she feels trying to creep up her throat. The thought of Jareth and Elga together… the thought of Jareth and any of the women at the Soirée. Any of the men…

She tries to think of herself doing that. Going to the Soirée, taking some unknown man by the hand, and leading him to the pillow-strewn depression in the ballroom. The thought holds no appeal. But when she replaces the faceless, unknown man with Jareth…

_Better_ , she thinks.

And now, instead of the pillows at Warrin’s Soirée, she imagines Jareth joining her on the flat rock where she now sits, his gloved hand brushing the hair away from her neck just before he leans in and…

_There is no future there_ , she thinks, crushing the fantasy. The man is attractive, but there needs to be more there than just attraction. Because, in the end, she knows she can’t tolerate what he does to children. The goblins are happy? Fine. But they could have been happy as children. What has happened to them is senseless and cruel, and she cannot sit by and just allow it.

_I love this place_ , she thinks, looking up at the hillside and its many waterfalls. _But I can’t stay here._ A cage, no matter how beautiful, is still a cage.

She transports herself back to the castle, directly into the music room. Judging by the amount of dust on the instruments, she is unlikely to be disturbed. She sits once more at the piano, lifting the lid, and running her fingers over the keys.

She presses a few and cringes at the sound. It’s still horribly out of tune, but it’s nice to focus her mind on something besides children, goblins, and the Labyrinth. She presses a few more keys and soon she is picking out the melody of the song that Jareth had been singing earlier. Her version is slower, more tentative, than his. She continues figuring out where the notes are, going back to the beginning whenever she begins to lose the tune.

She doesn’t get very far into the song before she is disturbed by the sound of Jareth’s boots on the stone floor behind her. So much for not being disturbed.

“You have a good ear,” he says, coming around and leaning on the piano.

“Some people say I have two,” she replies, hating that she can’t bring herself to look him in the eyes.

“Did you have lessons when you were young?”

“No. A girl at school once showed me where middle C was, but that’s about it.

“This room is beautiful,” she continues when he doesn’t answer her immediately. “Where did you get all of the instruments?”

“Some come from my subjects. Some I made. Most of them come from Above.”

This time Sarah does look at him. “You got them from Above? My image of you is blown.” In any other circumstance, it would have sounded like good-natured ribbing. Now, it only sounds accusatory. 

Surprisingly, Jareth does not go on the offensive, shrugging off the comment with ease. “I enjoy the music mortals make. They’re always coming up with new and interesting instruments. This one,” he says, lifting the lid that covers the body of the piano and propping it open, “is one of my newer acquisitions. They didn’t have instruments like this when I was mortal.”

Sarah nods to the long line of guitar-like instruments. “It looks like you’re more of a guitar guy than a piano guy.”

“Guilty as charged,” he confesses. He crosses the room and picks up a newer instrument, a guitar with the word “Gibson” embossed on the neck. He plucks a few of the strings and fiddles with the tuning pegs. “Hit the middle C.”

She does, and she can’t help the small grin that comes to her face when she sees him grimace at the tone. It slides off her face just as quickly as it came.

With a quick gesture of his right hand, he creates a crystal. He blows on it gently and it floats to the piano, bursting when it hits the strings.

“Hit it again.” His voice lifts at the end, gentling the demand.

This time, when she presses the key, the tone is clear, soft, and tuneful. She runs through the notes of the song she figured out and the sound is immensely improved.

“I wonder…” he begins, but trails off before completing the thought.

“What?” Sarah asks, curious.

“You have a sharp ear for melody. I wonder if it was a trait you had as a human, or if it was something you were gifted with when you became… one of us.”

_One of us._ Sarah sighs heavily. She looks at her hands, hands that look exactly the same as they did when she was human. She hasn’t looked in a mirror in years, and yet she knows exactly what she’d see. She really is one of them, isn’t she?

“I don’t have time to play music, Jareth!” she says, frustrated and hurting. “I need to be working, and I hate - I _hate_ \- that the one person who can help me do this is the one person I can’t stand to look at right now.”

Jareth sets the guitar back on its stand and joins Sarah at the piano. When he sits on the bench next to her, she doesn’t try to move away.

“I’m not going to make it, am I?” she says as she stares at the black and white keys. As the words leave her, she knows with certainty that they’re true.

Jareth waves his hand over the piano keys and a sad, lilting melody fills the room. 

“Everything helps, Sarah. Everything hones your skills.” As he speaks, a bass harmony is added to the melody of the piano. “Every block you place, every stitch you sew, every instrument you learn.” The cello, violin, and viola begin to hum a repeating succession of four chords while timpani and toms on the far side of the room begin to tap out a slow and steady rhythm. “Every new skill you learn will give you a better understanding of how the magic flows.” An electric guitar joins in, playing a descant above the melody and lending a distinctly modern sound to the orchestral music. “And when you understand how the magic flows, you will be able to claim your crown and…”

The music stops, but the room still vibrates with its sound.

The sudden quiet is startling, and Sarah turns to Jareth to see why he stopped.

“Sarah,” he says quietly. “The only way to return Above is to accept the crown.” He stands from the piano, but instead of disappearing as usual, he walks to the door. He turns back to her before leaving. “You don’t have to look at me, but if you will not be queen, there is no hope of your return.” He turns on his heel and leaves her with her thoughts.

Sarah closes the lid over the keyboard and lays her head on her arms. She stays like that for a long time, just thinking about what he’d said. When she finally decides on a plan of action, she stands from the piano to seek him out. As she steps away from the instrument, her foot catches on something and she stumbles. She turns to see what’s on the floor and notices the dictionary that she had laid down earlier in the day. 

Finding the library seems so unimportant now. She gestures toward the book and sends it to her chamber upstairs where it will be out of the way. She’ll worry about finding its proper place later.

She can tell Jareth is in his throne room. The thought of going to him there does not appeal to her; she’s not sure if she can stand the sight of goblins right now. But she has things she needs to say to him, and she will not wait. 

She transports herself to the door of the throne room and peeks inside. It is blessedly empty of everyone but Jareth. The emptiness of the room only serves to highlight the mess the goblins have left behind. Chicken feathers, straw, wooden cups and bowls, and the occasional piece of clothing are strewn haphazardly around the space. Jareth sits in his throne set only a few steps above the mess, staring blankly at one wall. He looks almost comfortable there, one leg thrown carelessly over the arm of his throne, but his drawn face betrays his relaxed posture.

He seems to sense her arrival, his eyes moving from the wall to where she stands, but he does not speak. He only watches her, waiting for her to start.

She doesn’t bother mincing her words.

“I don’t want to change babies into goblins,” she says. “It sickens me that it happens. It sickens me that it will happen no matter what I do. To do that to innocent children…” She braces herself, “Jareth, _it’s not fair._ ” She remembers what happened the last time she said this to Jareth, but she feels her basis for comparison might be a lot more relevant now.

“It’s not fair,” he agrees. “But that’s the way it is.” He takes no joy in telling her this. She knows he’s only trying to convey that some things about this world cannot be changed. 

Sarah nods, realizing she’d been wrong earlier. This was not Jareth’s fault. This magic goes beyond him, to the people responsible for creating him. The people responsible for creating _her_. 

Life has never been fair. She didn’t ask to be stolen from her world and thrust into someone else’s fantasy story. But if this is the lot she’s drawn, then she will make the most of it. She will learn everything Jareth can teach her and then she’ll keep learning until she figures out how to change the magic that forces the transformation. She will ensure that this nightmare ends. 

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” she vows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story.
> 
> Acknowledgments:  
> In addition to _Labyrinth_ , this work is inspired by the Gary Jules cover of the song "Mad World" by Tears for Fears, a prompt from the Livejournal Labyfic community, and by my friend M. who will probably not read this, but should be acknowledged nonetheless.
> 
> This story has been beta'd by Aurora Kemanche and Exulansis, both of whom I'd like to thank for their contributions to this fic, for their support, and for the ways they keep me from humiliating myself. Thanks guys! You're the best! :)
> 
> _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


	11. Focus

As Sarah strides through the castle, straw, feathers, and various stains whisk themselves away before her. Behind her, the corridor is pristine with no hint of dust, debris, or cobwebs. Getting the castle in order was so easy she wonders why Jareth didn’t do it eons ago. The trick, she has learned, is not trying to do the entire castle at once. The goblins don’t care about the mess, so why bother with the parts of the castle she doesn’t see? Sure, it took a long time to learn how to get rid of each type of filth, but now the mess takes care of itself as she nears it, allowing her to enjoy a clean home with minimum magical effort.

The castle improvements have given her an idea for her next project. It’s ambitious, though, and she’s not quite sure she can pull it off. However, she’s ready for a real challenge, something to really stretch her abilities. It won’t be fun, she knows, but it might be a game-changer. 

She finds Jareth in his throne room. Since she started exploring the castle, she’s come to realize how frequently he can be found there. It is where most of his goblins congregate, and he seems to enjoy being in the midst of their chaos. Today, however, he takes no notice of the bedlam around him. He seems lost in thought as he sits slumped in his throne. 

She draws her power back towards herself, leaving the throne room in its messy state. It feels intrusive to alter it in any way while he’s using it. Since their last conversation in this room, she’s been keeping him at a distance, and he seems to be doing the same to her, the hurt from their last confrontation still too fresh. She wants to clear the air between them, but knows she’ll find no common ground where the goblins are concerned. If she wants to find a way to turn them human again, she’s on her own.

When she reaches the dais, he still hasn’t noticed her presence.

“Jareth?”

His eyes skip to her, focusing on her as a look of astonishment briefly crosses his features. She’s surprised him. That’s definitely a first. He barely moves, yet his entire demeanor changes, hiding the misery that had been written so plainly across his face.

“Sarah.”

“You seemed very far away.”

“Do you need something?” he asks, his voice disinterested and cold. It’s clear that he won’t tell her what he was thinking when she entered the room. He’s closed himself off in a way she hasn’t seen since she moved into the castle, and it hurts more than she’s willing to admit. 

“Um…” she starts, thrown off-balance by his behavior. “I was wondering about the Bog.”

“What of it?”

“Does it serve a purpose? I mean, besides threatening Hoggle.”

“What further purpose does it need?” he replies without humor.

“I see.” She has one more thing to ask, and she takes care to word it in such a way that ensures she is not asking a favor. “I’d like to move Hoggle’s post from the exterior of the Labyrinth to the Bog. Just temporarily. Will that be a problem?”

Jareth’s eyebrows raise in surprise, his first signal of genuine interest in her since she arrived. “You are no longer friends, then?”

“We’ll see how he feels when we finish this project,” she says with a cautious smile.

“I believe I can spare him for a time.”

Sarah lets her smile grow wider, a gesture of goodwill, and senses a bit of the ice melt between them. Jareth’s expression softens, and he gives her a small nod before she transports from the castle.

She lands in the Bog of Eternal Stench and wishes she didn’t need air to speak to Didymus. She might not need oxygen to survive, but her vocal cords require air to work. 

The knight is at the tree by his bridge, just where she expected him to be. She greets him with a smile and pats Ambrosius on his shaggy head. The sight of the dog always brings her equal amounts of joy and sorrow; he looks so much like Merlin. She tries not to think of her loyal, old friend; the chances of him still being alive are nil.

“How fares my lady?” Didymus greets her. 

The first intake of breath burns her nostrils, and she wills herself not to gag. “Just fine, Didymus,” she chokes out. “I have a question for you… kind of a favor.”

“Anything!” he says, eager to help. “You need only ask.”

“Do you mind if I… alter the Bog a bit?” She plans to do quite a bit more than alter it, but since she isn’t yet sure it will work, she figures this is close enough to her plans.

“Alter it? But why?” He spreads his arms wide and gestures to the decaying, belching landscape. “Have you ever seen a more beautiful vista? What could improve on such perfection?”

She has never understood Didymus’ love affair with the place, and she hopes he isn’t devastated if her plan works.

“I only want to do some landscaping,” she assures him. “I need to work on my gardening skills, and I thought the ground here would be good for it.” Which is close enough to the truth for now.

“In that case, my lady, do as you please. I shall be here to lend assistance should you need it.”

She thanks Didymus and transports from the Bog, pleased to have his buy-in for her project. 

Hoggle, however, turns out to be far more difficult to persuade.

“Why here?” he asks later, grumpily, as he jabs his shovel into the dirt.

Sarah uses her own shovel to turn another bit of soil, breaking it up before moving on to the next. “Because it’s the worst,” she replies. “If I can do it with the Bog, I can do it anywhere.”

They’re on the outskirts where the smell is hardly noticeable. An occasional breeze blows the fetid aroma towards them causing them to choke and sputter, but they mostly work in peace. 

The dead trees were the first things to go and now they work together to turn the soil so they can cultivate new, living plants. It is back-breaking work, and they’ve seen little progress as the days have passed. But once they have this section done, she can use her powers to slowly move closer to the center.

“You don’t know it’ll work.” 

“Well, no… but that’s why I need your help. You know gardening.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about what you’re doing.”

“It’s not complicated, Hoggle. We plant special trees and grasses and they clean up the Bog.” She suddenly feels unsure of herself. The concept seemed simple enough. She had in mind a research project that she'd done in high school on new methods of landfill remediation. By planting certain trees and shrubs over the landfill, a company had managed to leach toxins from the soil, converting an unsightly scar to a beautiful forest, fit for hiking and other recreational activities. The plants continued to protect both the land and the neighboring water sources from pollution. If her theory proves correct, she can turn the Bog into a more pleasant place. It will still be a bog (she doesn’t have Jareth’s abilities yet), but it won’t stink and might be a little easier on the eyes. If she’s successful, this bit of magic could be her ticket home.

The biggest issue she has right now is that she doesn’t remember which species of tree the article had mentioned. She enlisted Hoggle’s help to choose the plants that will thrive in the Bog and do the most good. But since the process will be trial-and-error, she wants to ensure that no sentient plants are used in this experiment.

Together, she and Hoggle begin planting trees along the outskirts of the Bog, choosing species that grow in the adjoining areas. Dead trees are pulled out and replaced with the species that thrive. They have the best luck with Poplars, which makes Hoggle grumble even more than usual.

“Weeds with bark,” he complains. He says it so often that Sarah can’t help but laugh. They look just fine to her.

On the outskirts, nearly all the trees do well, but as they work toward the Bog’s foul water, more and more of them either fail to flourish or simply refuse to grow. As they reach the water, they give up on trees altogether and begin experimenting with bulrushes, sea oats, and several species of sedge. The addition of goldenrod, waterwillow, and purple-stemmed asters provide splashes of badly-needed color.

Though Sarah soon learns how to do the work magically, the process is agonizingly slow. She may be able to turn the soil and plant the trees in mere seconds, but she can’t force the seeds to grow more quickly than is natural for them.

During the weeks she allows for growing, she spends most of her time in the music room slowly learning the piano and branching out to other instruments whenever the mood strikes her. Jareth proves once again to be an adept teacher. They often sit together at the piano playing scales or simple duets, and Jareth often comments about how quickly she’s learning. He provides sheet music for her, but she prefers to come up with her own melodies and then figure out complicated harmonies for them. Though she is far from mastering the piano, she begins branching out to other instruments, learning how they work and trying to produce the best sound from each. She doesn’t have Jareth’s skill on any of them, but with time and practice, she feels she might one day match him.

She sneaks glances at him as he sits with her on the piano bench, and every once in awhile, she sees a ghost of the look he’d given her in the throne room just before everything had gone to hell. But they never seem to get back to that place where things are simple and fun. There’s a tension between them now; the knowledge that they disagree on something fundamental. 

Sometimes she wonders what he’d do if she simply leaned over and kissed him, but she never gathers the courage to do it. When she lies down to sleep at night, she thinks over the day and all the ways she could show him what she’s feeling. The what-ifs begin to infiltrate her dreams, sometimes showing her delicious ways he might react, but, more often, frightening her with ways he could reject her.

When she’s not in the music room, she sits at a table in her sleeping chamber working on her lure. The table is most often found strewn with scraps of rough, hand-made paper on which Sarah has scribbled ideas and snippets of dialogue. A thick stack of paper, a fairly accurate copy of Jareth’s original book that Sarah has recreated from memory, sits in one corner of the desk. Though she’s certain it isn’t a perfect recreation, she blushes when she reminds Jareth that there was only one line she ever had trouble remembering.

In the evenings, she works on her clothing. Silk is far finer and far more difficult to work with than the linen fibers to which she is accustomed. The process of spinning the fibers is frustrating and time-consuming, but the superiority of the finished thread is immediately apparent. She dyes the thread a vibrant true red, then begins weaving. In the beginning, she’s lucky to finish an inch of fabric per day, but as she gets the hang of the process, she’s able to produce up to four inches per day. She keeps weaving until she has a length of silk as long as her linen wrap. Unwilling to risk ruining her beautiful red silk, she practices her new dress designs on lengths of magically created coarse linen. She cuts and tweaks the dress until she is satisfied with the look and fit, then she takes it apart to make a pattern. She carefully cuts out the pieces of silk and begins sewing them together with strands of her red silk thread. 

The silk dress has the same light feel as the sarong she made out of Jareth’s cloak so long ago, flowing over her skin almost as if it isn’t there at all, conforming to her shape as it skims her body. She leaves the skirt short, barely mid-thigh, allowing freedom of movement, but cuts the sleeves long so that they mold to her arms then flare ever so slightly at the wrist. The deep cowl neckline shows an expanse of white skin as it drapes nearly to her navel. She cuts the back of the neckline generously enough to allow her to pull it up and use it as a hood. She prefers to wear it up, but on the rare occasions she pushes it down, the back of the dress scoops nearly as low as the front.

When the dress is complete, she wears it to show Jareth. She has no mirror, but the look in his eyes when she enters the room is enough to convince her that she’s done well, and she discards her old linen wraps in favor of her new silk dress. In return for more silk fibers, she plants several mulberries near the silkworms’ home, ensuring they always have enough food for their caterpillars.

Time is difficult to track in the Labyrinth, and she suspects years must have passed since she began her Bog project. However, she knows her hard work has paid off when the addition of water lilies turns the Bogwater crystal clear and there isn’t a hint of foulness to the air. 

The belching pools provide an interesting challenge to her, but when she learns how to raise the water levels, she finally has the Jacuzzi baths she’s dreamed of since her early days in the Labyrinth.

She enlists Ludo’s help for the final project in the Bog: a present for Sir Didymus. By this time, she can quarry and hone stone to the shape she needs and then build the bridge by magic, but she enjoys Ludo’s company and he enjoys helping her. He calls the rocks she needs and together they move them into place to create a wide stone bridge for Didymus to guard. The Bog has become so beautiful she imagines many of the Labyrinth’s inhabitants will begin moving in. The bridge may soon actually require a guard!

The Bog becomes her favorite spot to visit with her friends. Didymus seems to appreciate not needing to leave his post, and Hoggle is surprisingly helpful in keeping the plants healthy and the pests subdued. Jareth, however, never makes an appearance. 

So it surprises all four of them when he appears, the last of the day’s fading light glinting off the gems sewn onto his deep blue jacket while she is enjoying a game of chess with Didymus. Hoggle and Ludo sit nearby, playing a game with little pebbles, the rules to which she doesn’t quite understand. Didymus immediately jumps up, bowing and greeting Jareth as he approaches the group. Hoggle also rises, albeit far more slowly and grudgingly than Didymus. Ludo looks to Didymus then Hoggle before deciding to clamber to his enormous feet. Sarah remains seated on the ground where she watches with keen interest as Jareth takes in all of the changes to the Bog. An untrained eye would not notice the subtle changes in his expression and posture, would be unable to see his first cautious intake of breath, but Sarah notices and can tell he’s impressed. With a smirk, she manipulates the air around her, and strains of instrumental music surround them. 

When he hears the music, one of her own compositions, Jareth’s eyes lock onto hers. He wears a smile similar to the one on her own face and approaches her. He reaches down to help her up.

“Come,” he says.

She could refuse, she knows - she’s in the middle of her game with Didymus - but she’s curious about what Jareth wants. It’s rare for him to interrupt her time with her friends, and he has never come to get her from the Bog. But the evening sun is setting, so she takes his hand and allows him to help her up.

“Same time next week, then?” she says to her friends.

“Of course, my lady,” Didymus answers immediately.

Ludo’s attention has been drawn toward a butterfly on a nearby buddleia, but he manages a friendly “Goodbye, Sarah,” before she leaves. 

Hoggle merely grumbles and waves her off as she and Jareth disappear from the Bog.

 

“A surprise, huh?” Sarah says teasingly as they reappear on the balcony of her sleeping chamber.

“It’s time for you to learn something new.”

Sarah sighs dramatically. A new skill means physical labor, and though she is willing to do what Jareth asks, she isn’t particularly in the mood to get dirty and sweaty.

“Something very new,” he insists, amused by her reaction. As he speaks, he spins a crystal on his fingertips. “It’s time for you to learn how to make a focus.”

“A focus?” she asks, watching the way the crystal ball follows his hands almost as if it can’t bear to part with him. It pauses on the tips of his fingers for moment, giving her just enough time to see two figures dancing within it: a blond in deep blue and a brunette in true red.

“You understand physical magic. It’s time for you to learn a more abstract variety.” He rolls the crystal around the back of his hand, across his arm, and onto his other hand, catching it lightly and twisting it to show it to her again. This time, the dancing figures are closer, flesh to flesh, with no hint of red or blue. Her eyes fly to his and she wonders if he knows what she sees in the crystal. He gives no indication either way.

“What’s the point of the focus?” she asks, trying desperately to stay on-topic. “I haven’t needed one so far.”

“Sarah,” he begins, his voice smooth as silk. “We’re offering men and women their dreams. They must be encapsulated so they can be presented.” He holds the crystal out to her on the tips of his fingers. The two figures have stopped dancing and are simply holding each other, looking into each other’s eyes.

“And this,” she says, staring into the crystal, “This is my dream?”

“No, love. This is mine.”

She hears the new term of endearment, but can’t tear her eyes away from the crystal he holds in front of her. The figures lean towards each other, but just before their lips touch, the crystal slips into the palm of Jareth’s hand and disappears.

“Jareth…” she whispers. Her heart is racing, but her mind has stalled. She looks up at him and his gaze is so heated it nearly burns her. It’s the look he gives her in her dreams, but it’s too new, too unfamiliar seeing it in her waking hours. Her instinct is to run. 

She clears her throat. “Ok, so how do I do it?” she says, breaking eye contact and turning to settle on the stone ledge of her balcony.

He follows her and sits next to her, closer than strictly necessary. His leg touches hers, and her heart starts beating faster.

“You understand how magic flows. You know how to manipulate it. Instead of using it to control the physical world, you need to control an idea. Relax your mind. Open up to the possibility of holding a dream in your hand.”

Sarah closes her eyes and cups her hands in front of her, willing a crystal like Jareth’s to appear in them.

Nothing happens.

She peeks at her hands, then looks at Jareth, unsure what to do next.

“It didn’t work,” she says, slightly embarrassed.

“I see.”

“Do I need to learn how to make glass or something?”

Jareth laughs, and the sound makes her heart soar. “That’s not necessary. They’re not really glass.”

“Really?” She’s shocked. It had never occurred to her that they were anything other than crystal.

“They’re ideas,” he says. “If you would like to conjure an elaborate dinner party, redecorate a room, or…”

“Send the cleaners after someone?” Sarah suggests wryly.

“Offer someone her dreams,” he says, giving her a pointed look. “You can contain the idea in a single crystal.”

“But how am I supposed to know someone else’s dream?”

“That magic will come with your crown. In the meantime, you know your own dreams and you’ve seen one of mine.” His eyes are guarded. He’s putting himself out there for her, willing her to make a move and show him that his feelings are reciprocated. But she has no experience in expressing those feelings, and she is at a loss.

When she makes no move to conjure a crystal, he conjures one for her. “Here,” he says. “Maybe this will inspire you.”

She looks at the crystal in his hands and feels a sense of warm familiarity.

“Take it,” he offers.

She reaches out to him and takes the crystal, but she is already lost to the dream inside it. She’s standing on a brightly lit stage taking her bows while the audience stands and applauds. A stagehand enters stage left to hand her an enormous bouquet of pink roses. Her castmates take a step back and allow her her moment in the spotlight as the crowd cheers.

Sarah giggles at the image in the crystal. It’s such a silly little daydream, but she remembers when it was her fondest wish to be loved by all of those people, adored by strangers.

“This was the dream you offered me all those years ago, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

She turns her body so she can face him and holds the crystal up between them.

“You kept it.”

“I did.”

“Would this have ever been my life?”

“If you’d accepted it when it was offered.” His voice is smooth, matter-of-fact.

“But not without magic.” It’s not a question. 

“Would you have wanted it? Truly wanted it?” he asks.

She looks back into the crystal, watching her teenage self bow once more to the cheering crowd. That’s not her, not anymore. She’d outgrown this dream years ago, even before her transformation. It strikes her what she really wanted, back when she fantasized about taking her bows in front of hundreds of adoring fans, was to be noticed and appreciated. Loved. But applause isn’t the same as love; this dream wouldn’t have given her what she had truly wanted.

But then she realizes she can see something else in the crystal as well. If she turns it just so, the crystal remains clear and she can see Jareth’s refracted image looking at her.

“My dream...” 

She knows what her dreams are; she has no need of the crystal to show her. When she realizes this, she intuitively understands how to stow it away, sending the crystal and the dream into the ether where it can be recalled at her whim. She turns her wrist as she had seen Jareth do in her parents’ room so long ago and the bauble disappears without so much as a pop. Jareth’s eyes widen.

“It’s you,” she says. “For so long, it’s been you.” She knows what she wants, what she’s wanted for so long, and he has shown her that he wants it, too. She needs only to reach out and take it. 

It’s fear holding her back. Fear of changing the dynamic between them. They’ve been in a holding pattern that has become comfortable for all that it is unfulfilling. She can reach out, take this last step, but if it doesn’t work out, if he isn’t all she wants, if _she_ isn’t all _he_ wants… what then? She knows she has only a moment to make her decision. If he thinks she’s rejected him, she’ll no longer have this chance.

_Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all._

The old saying comes unbidden. Love? She’s not sure about that. But she’ll take the risk. 

She had expected to make the first real move, but he moves first, placing a gentle kiss on her lips. It’s unlike the kiss she gave him inside her chamber after her dreamwalk; that had been pure gratitude. This, though... this held the promise of something bigger, and she leans into him, encouraging him to continue.

To her surprise, he pulls back. 

“You’re shivering,” he says.

She realizes with astonishment that he’s right. She hasn’t been cold since she arrived in the Labyrinth, not even in the ice caves, but she’s shivering now as if she’s freezing.

“I think…” she starts, unsure that she should admit this to him. “I think I’m scared,” she says, her eyes wide with wonderment. She shouldn’t be scared; she’s wanted this for years.

He lowers his chin in a slight nod, and she can’t help but notice the longing in his eyes. “I’ll stop,” he says.

“No!” she says, a bit too loudly. Lowering her voice, she continues, “No, please don’t stop.”

“May I?” he asks as he raises his hand to run his fingers through her hair. She nods and he pushes back the hood of her dress. “Why are you afraid?”

“You want a reason?” she asks with a small, nervous laugh. “Take your pick.”

His hand drifts to the back of her neck, and he holds her while he bends in to kiss under her ear. “Because this will change things between us.”

Her eyes close, relishing the feel of his lips on her skin.

“Yeah,” she says.

She feels his teeth graze her skin. “Because you’ve been worried for so long about your family that you feel guilty doing something for yourself.”

He’s right. This will not help her return Above, but she hasn’t done anything just for herself for so long. Can’t she just have this one thing? Hasn’t she earned it? 

“Yes,” she answers, her voice barely a whisper.

He nips at her earlobe. “Because this is all new to you.”

That hits a nerve, and she pulls away from him, needing space and air.

“Sarah?”

“Is it a problem?” she asks, looking out over the Labyrinth. She hasn’t been a child in so very long, but in the face of this new experience, she feels tiny and immature. What does she have to offer that he couldn’t get from any of the beautiful, experienced women at the Soirée?

“That this is new to you?”

“Yeah… I’m not like the people at the Soirée.” She finally gathers the courage to look at him. “I don’t have… I mean, I never...”

He interrupts her with a kiss on her mouth, one hand tangled in her hair. When he breaks the kiss, he rests his forehead against hers. “You aren’t like the people at the Soirée,” he confirms. “That’s why I’m here with you.”

She looks down at her lap. “But they know…”

“They know how to seek pleasure for themselves,” he interrupts her, laying the gentlest of kisses on one of her eyelids and then the other. “That is what each one of them wants. Nothing more. You are greater than that. You work so that others may be happy.”

“It doesn’t bother you? That I haven’t…?”

“No,” he says firmly. “Does it bother you that I have?”

She shakes her head. She remembers the jealousy she felt when she considered his relationship with Elga. But now, in his arms, that jealousy has faded. He’s here now with her and that’s what matters.

This time, she leans in to kiss him. He kisses her back with heated fervor. She can feel his fingers running through her hair and cradling the back of her head, holding her to him, but, sitting side-by-side, the angle is awkward. She doesn’t notice when his hand leaves her hip, and she yelps in surprise when he lifts her under the knees, picking her up and carrying her into her sleeping chamber. He grins at her, his eyes never leaving hers as he crosses the room and lays her on her bed.

“Wait, Jareth,” she says, breathless. “My bed’s too small.”

“We’ll make it work,” he answers, kneeling on the floor and bending over her to take her mouth again.

“Maybe we should go to your room,” she says when he moves to her neck.

“Mine is no larger.” His voice has taken on a husky quality she’s never heard from him before. 

“What? Really?”

He ignores her question, running his hand down her thigh until he reaches bare skin and then slowly inches his hand underneath her skirt. He doesn’t make it two inches before she stops him again. 

“I want to try something,” she says as she pushes him back and sits up. 

He rests his hands on her knees, his thumbs drawing gentle circles on her skin, as she closes her eyes and concentrates. She imagines a bed, similar to the one on which she currently sits, only larger. Much larger. She knows where to find the materials and how to put them together. She holds her hands in front of her and pulls the idea from the ether, forcing it into her hands. When she opens her eyes, a crystal hovers centimeters over her hand. Inside, she can see the bed she imagined: a wide featherbed made of the softest linen she is capable of producing, dressed in lustrous undyed silk sheets, and topped with several large pillows. 

“Neat,” she breathes, grinning. She glances at Jareth, taking in his dark eyes and parted lips, and drops the crystal, allowing the magic to manifest. 

The new, enormous bed on which Jareth and Sarah find themselves is exactly how she imagined it. She inspects the rough-hewn logs that make up the frame of the bed, and considers how much prettier it would be if she knew how to carve them. 

She starts, “Maybe I should start learning woodwork…”

Jareth cuts off her words with another heated kiss, laying her down on her new bed. “Enough magic,” he says gruffly. He pulls back and meets her eyes. “I need you.”

Sarah only nods, suddenly incapable of speech. She runs her fingers through his wild hair, surprised at its soft, silky feel, then pulls him toward her. He has been kissing her, making her feel wanted, and she wants to return the favor.

She tilts her head so she can kiss the soft skin under his chin and reaches down to pull his shirt out of his trousers. 

“You wear,” she kisses the spot under his ear, “entirely too many clothes.” She gets her hands under his shirt and caresses his chest. He is smooth and hard under her hands, exactly how she had always imagined him.

He pulls away from her, kneeling on the bed beside her, and she watches wide-eyed as he bites the tip of one leather-clad finger and removes his glove. He tosses it to the side and removes the other with his hand. As he drops the second glove to the floor, she reaches for one of his hands. She has never seen them bare before and she doesn’t want to miss another opportunity. 

His skin is unbelievably soft, smooth, and white. She kisses the palm of his hand, then takes his index finger into her mouth. Looking up into his eyes, she rolls her tongue around his finger and then sucks softly, pulling it from her mouth, grazing his fingertip with her teeth, and then taking him back in. 

For the first time in all the time she has known him, Jareth is at a loss for words.

With a grin, she releases him. Sitting up to kneel beside him, she pushes his heavy jacket off his shoulders, then pulls his shirt over his head, tossing them both to the floor with his gloves. With them gone, she can see for the first time exactly how slender he is. She runs her fingers over his chest, feeling goosebumps rise on his skin. The effect pleases her and she bends to trace her fingers’ path with her tongue. 

He lacks a flavor, she notes with surprise. He smells, as always, of sunshine and the leather of his gloves, but his scent doesn’t translate on her tongue. She continues exploring, hoping to taste him, running her tongue over his chest and around one of his nipples. The hardness of it surprises her and she sucks the tiny nub into her mouth, giving him a gentle bite.

A groan from deep in Jareth’s throat disturbs the silence of the room, and Sarah looks up at him.

“My turn,” he whispers, and she notices that his hands are on her thighs, pulling at the hem of her dress. She pulls just far enough away from him to allow him to pull her dress up over her head. 

It is not the first time she’s been nude in front of him, and, just as she had in the past, she stands, feeling no shame or shyness.

“Gods, you are beautiful,” he says, tangling his fingers in her hair once more and pulling her toward him for another searing kiss. She throws herself into it, leaning against him, trying to feel his hard body against her own softness. 

He pushes back, encouraging her to lie on the bed. 

She’s off-balance, and as she moves backward, she has to put one of her hands back to catch herself. Her legs splay as she falls and he takes advantage of her prone position to take his place between her thighs. He presses himself against her as he leans down to take her mouth. She thinks she’ll never get enough of the feel of him against her. Her hands run over his back feeling the ripple of his lean muscles as he moves against her, then she reaches lower to grip his rear and press him harder against her. 

“Still too many clothes,” she whispers, attempting to tug his trousers down.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chides. “Not yet.” He pulls her hands away and holds them on either side of her head then buries his face in her neck, nipping and licking his way to the hollow of her throat then down her chest. He takes his time working his way down her body, and she can feel her nipples peak as he licks, nips, and sucks both in their turn. 

Her breath is coming faster now, and she surprises herself with the needy sounds she makes as he caresses the underside of her breasts with his nose.

He moves lower, kissing her belly, and though she tries not to giggle and squirm, she fails.

“Ticklish, are we?” he asks, grinning up at her. He releases her hands and holds her sides, grounding her while he continues to kiss and lick his way down her body.

“Please…” she whispers, barely audible.

“Yes?” She can hear the pleasure in his voice and she realizes he likes it when she begs.

“Please, Jareth!” she says louder.

His smile is brilliant as he says, “As you wish.”

She can’t take her eyes off of him as he settles himself between her legs. He touches her gently, and she makes a small sound. He meets her eyes briefly, taking in her expression, before turning his attention back to her center. “Beautiful,” he says again.

The first sensation of his tongue against her makes her hips buck. He hooks his arms under her thighs, gripping her hips to hold her still. After that first sensation, though, she relaxes into the him, moving with him as he moves against her. It feels nothing like she imagined late at night when she fantasized about him doing exactly this and acted out his role with her own fingers. His breath is hot against her as his tongue slides over her in ways her fingers never could. She has imagined it for so long and it so much better, so much hotter and wetter, than she could have ever dreamed. 

It’s like flying, she thinks. There is a rhythm to their movements as they climb higher and higher and just when she thinks she can go no further, all of her muscles seize, and she is in freefall. It feels like dying or living forever, exhilarating and terrifying, and she needs it to end or maybe she wants for it never to stop, but he is there to catch her, holding her through it all as she comes back to herself.

As she catches her breath, she looks down at him. He is there, drinking her down, tasting her in gentle laps, holding her through the little aftershocks.

“Jareth…” she whispers. He looks up at her, his expression gloating, obviously pleased with himself, and he begins to work his way back up her body, licking and kissing her, and she is shocked by how sensitive she is to his touch. He kisses her and she can taste herself on him. It makes her impatient to get her first taste of him.

She puts her hand on his chest and pushes him onto his back before clambering over him and off the bed. As she reaches the stone floor, her legs fail her, and she wobbles before she’s able to stand. She steadies herself, and notices Jareth’s grin.

“A bit weak in the knees, are we?” he asks her cheekily, folding his hands behind his head, a look of supreme satisfaction on his face.

She narrows her eyes, but can’t wipe the grin from her own face as she chides, “What have I said about clothes, Jareth?” She kneels on the floor next to the bed and pulls a boot off his foot. She tosses it to the side, and he props himself up on his elbows to watch her as she removes the other. His feet are perfect, she notices. They have no callouses and his nails are trimmed and neat. She runs her fingers against the underside of his foot and he twitches.

“I guess I’m not the only ticklish one,” she says with a smile.

“I’ll see you punished for treason should you tell anyone,” he says with a straight face, but she can see the humor in his eyes.

“Yes, sir,” she answers.

“I think you’ll find it’s ‘Your Majesty,’” he corrects her.

“Well, _Your Majesty_ , you certainly make it difficult for a girl to bow to you properly.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mmm,” she affirms.

He stands from the bed and allows her to get her fingers into the waistband of his trousers. She peels them from his body slowly as if she’s unwrapping a gift. She has been waiting so long, she wants to relish the experience. Every new centimeter of skin becomes her new favorite as he is revealed to her. She notices slight indentations on both sides of his abdomen that form an arrow pointing down to his groin. The sight of them causes a tightening low in her belly and she feels compelled to lean in and run her tongue along them. As she does, she pulls his trousers down over his rear and to his knees. 

The desire that fills her when she finally sees him shocks her to her core. She has wanted him for so long, but her entire body is now screaming for him, demanding she touch, taste, and take.

“Sarah,” he whispers, and she realizes that she’s staring at him in dumbfounded fascination. She looks up at him, awe in her eyes, and it is all she can do to encourage him to sit back on the bed while she pulls his trousers from around his ankles. She tosses them away with the rest of their clothing and returns her attention to him.

She touches gently, ghosting her fingers along the thick length of him. His skin is silky smooth; she would call it soft if he weren’t so incredibly hard. The contradiction intrigues her. She leans in and licks the base of him, and he groans again.

Pleased, she does it again, running her tongue from base to tip. She notes with disappointment that she still cannot taste him. She shifts and takes the tip of him into her mouth and he gasps. Enjoying this new power she seems to have over him, she draws him slowly into her mouth, swirling her tongue as she takes him deeper. 

His hand is in her hair, but he doesn’t press her, only holds her, telling her without words that he likes what she’s doing. She pulls back, slowly releasing him, then draws him in again, her hands moving to cover what her mouth cannot. When she draws back, she finally tastes him. He’s sweet, and unlike anything she has ever had before. She hums with pleasure, and takes him back into her mouth again, hoping for another taste.

She moves against him in much the same way he had moved against her, taking as much as she can before pulling back and starting again. She swirls her tongue around him every time she nearly pulls off, relishing his flavor.

“Sarah, please…”

Ah, so she’s not the only one who can beg.

“Please what?” she asks, releasing him.

“I need you.”

“As you wish,” she repeats his words with a smirk and takes one more long, slow lick, rolling her tongue around the tip of him, gathering just a little bit more of his sweet essence.

She stands, her knees protesting their harsh treatment on the stone floor. He notices - of course he does - and helps her onto the bed, moving down her body to massage her knees. He kisses each one, then moves back up to kiss her mouth. She welcomes him into the cradle of her hips.

He nestles against her, kissing her, tangling his fingers in her hair, but when he rocks his hips she gasps, breaking away from his mouth, unused to the feeling of his naked length sliding against her, but wanting more. He doesn’t break his stride, moving his lips down her neck, running his tongue along her jawbone. She moves with him, drawn into the rhythm, eager to increase the tempo.

“Jareth,” she whispers.

“Hmm?”

“I want more.” She can feel his grin against her skin.

“Well, then... who am I to deny you?” he asks, shifting his hips slightly, changing the angle to press against her.

She takes a deep breath, suddenly worried. She has no doubts that she wants him like this, but she remembers whispers among the girls she grew up with that the first time hurt. And that, sometimes, there’s blood. But as she looks up at Jareth, his eyes focused intently on her and his expression heated, her fears melt, because she knows he won’t hurt her. She trusts him.

He sinks into her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, watching her closely for any sign of discomfort, but she is soaking wet and accepts him easily. When she feels his hipbones against hers, he stills. 

The feeling of fullness is pleasant, but far from earth shattering; she’d expected earthquakes and fireworks. She can’t regret anything they’ve done so far - he has made her feel amazing - but books and movies had made her believe that this would be something more. 

“Sarah.”

“Hmm?” His voice brings her out of her thoughts and she realizes she’d been looking past him, up at her ceiling. When she meets his eyes, she feels an almost electric connection between them. She can see his pleasure and his desire to please and it causes something in her belly to tighten.

“Stay with me,” he says, his voice low and smooth, and she remembers him saying that to her once before, on the beach at the frog pond. She remembers looking into his eyes, one pupil larger than the other, and using him to ground herself. He’d been trying to help her. Always trying to help her.

“I’m here, Jareth,” she says. “I’m here.” And she realizes that she is looking at him in exactly the same way he’s looking at her. She wants to please him, to make him happy.

And then he moves.

Her mouth forms an _oh_ of surprise, but there is no sound. Her voice suddenly feels very far away. Her breath is gone, but he is still watching, taking in her reaction. The corner of his mouth has twitched up in the smallest of smiles. He moves in long, sure strokes, leaving her gasping and empty, then filling her completely. She lays still at first, letting the sensations wash over her. It’s overwhelming, moreso even than when he had his mouth between her legs. But she doesn’t stay still for long. She wants to match him, to meet him, to bring him the pleasure he brings her. _This_ is what she’d expected, what the books had talked about it. 

She finds the rhythm again easily, moving with him, against him, rising to meet him stroke for stroke, but she wants more - _needs_ more. She rises faster, urging him on, wanting him deeper, unable to get enough of his slick hardness.

She whispers his name, the only name of his she knows, over and over, until he bends to kiss her. His tongue sweeps across her lips and invades her mouth and she meets him, inviting him in, playing with him. He supports his weight on one arm propped by her head while his other hand rests on her breast, his thumb teasing her hardened nipple. The sensation sends shockwaves to her core, where she begins to feel tense and hot.

“Sarah,” he says as he breaks the kiss. “Soon, Sarah, please. Come with me.”

“Yes,” she tells him, again and again. _Yes._

His hand moves from her breast and touches the spot between her legs that his hard length just barely caresses every time he moves. He moves his thumb in circles, and it’s more than she can stand, more than she can bear. 

Her entire body tenses, her back arching into him, and she looses an inarticulate scream of pleasure. His rhythm falters, and she realizes through the haze that he is joining her in her freefall. His teeth scrape against her shoulder, hard enough for her to feel it, but not hard enough to hurt, and she spares a moment to wish he had bitten harder, left his mark on her.

He lies against her, head buried against her shoulder, as their breathing to returns to normal. Her fingers curl into his hair, gently massaging his scalp, encouraging him to stay joined with her so she can relish the way his weight pushes her into the featherbed.

“We’re stupid,” Sarah says suddenly.

Jareth only raises his head and looks at her suspiciously.

“We should have been doing this ages ago.”

With a bark of laughter, he rolls off of her, then gathers her in his arms, pressing himself against her back. She can feel him nuzzle against her hair, inhaling her scent.

It is dark in her room; the sun went down without either of them noticing. With a small amount of will, Sarah lights a fire in the enormous fireplace.

“It’s customary to fall asleep after such exercise,” Jareth says.

“It’s still early. I mean, if you want to sleep, I guess I could practice with the focus. I’ve got some ideas.”

“Oh?” he asks, and she can tell he is more interested in sleep than magic.

“Well, yeah. First, a rug, I think,” she says, bringing one of her tender knees up so she can rub it. 

That gets Jareth’s attention. His fingers graze her knee gently. “A rug,” he agrees with much more enthusiasm. “Perhaps a very soft, thick rug.” He places a kiss on her shoulder.

“And then woodworking. The bed frame is pretty rudimentary. I think I can do better. Plus, that wardrobe,” she points at the crooked piece of furniture against the wall, “has bugged me for years.”

“I made that wardrobe,” he says in a tone of voice that would have made her knees tremble with fear when she’d first met him. 

“Must’ve been early days for you,” she says, teasingly.

He lifts his head, and she cranes her neck to meet his eyes. “You want a wardrobe?” he says as if she’d just challenged him to a duel.

She rolls her eyes, “ _Having_ one isn’t really the point; I just want to be able to _fix_ one. Not all of us are clotheshorses. The only thing in it is that old dictionary.”

His eyes narrow. “What dictionary?”

Sarah thinks back, momentarily puzzled before remembering that she never had a chance to ask him about it. “I forgot to tell you, I guess. I found an English to Gaelic translation dictionary when I was exploring the castle. It was, oh, ages ago, back when I thought there was hope of finding a library.” It’s still impossible for her to believe that in all his time Underground, Jareth never amassed a collection of books, but she has been through the entire castle, seen nearly every room, and there is no library.

Jareth releases her and climbs out of the bed, crossing the room to the wardrobe to investigate. When he opens the crooked piece of furniture, he finds the book. 

Sarah sits up, only mildly interested in his reaction. She’d flipped through the book already and there hadn’t found much interesting about a dictionary for a language she doesn’t even speak. She swings her legs off the side of the bed, concentrates for a moment and creates a crystal between her hands.

Jareth thumbs through the pages, a look of consternation on his face. “Where did you find this?”

“A couple floors down, last door on the right. What’s with all those identical rooms, anyway? It’s like the most depressing office building in the world down there.” She lifts her hand and looks at the crystal from the underside, entranced by the way it hovers just over her skin.

“Show me,” he says.

“Now? I dunno, Jareth.” She looks away from her focus and looks him over, enjoying the sight of him without his layers of clothing. Her lips pull up into a smirk. “I kind of had other plans.”

“Oh, really?” he asks, returning her gaze with one just as lascivious. He sets the book on Sarah’s table with the pieces and pages of her lure.

Sarah drops the crystal and a cream-colored wool rug spreads across the room, covering the hard stone floor. She watches his eyes darken, then runs her big toe over the rug. “Hmm… I bet with some practice, I could make this even thicker…”

Jareth quickly crosses the room and cuts her off with a kiss. She pulls him down onto the bed with her, smiling against his mouth, and this time, she takes all the time she wants to taste him.

 

Jareth rests against Sarah’s intricately carved headboard, reading her lure. It’s ingenious, combining his original story with her own twist. The first half is _The Labyrinth_ as it has always been, but the second half is all hers. The girl in the story wins, as she always does, and is returned home with her baby brother, safe and sound. But she doesn’t forget the Goblin King and wonders for years what might have been had she accepted his offer. The people of the world Above cannot understand her and so shun and ignore her. The girl grows into a beautiful woman and invites the Goblin King back into her life, agreeing to join him, but refusing him as a slave. In this story, she wants to help the Goblin King and turn the Goblin Kingdom into a kind and welcoming place. They end the story as partners.

She’d laid it on a bit thick, he thinks. But the writing is strong, and he can see that she has broadened the appeal of the story. It reflects a more modern way of thinking while still maintaining the romance and fantasy of his original.

He closes the book and rises from her bed. The room has changed dramatically since he started sleeping in here regularly. His feet sink into the plush carpet, far thicker and softer than the one she had originally created. The new bed frame and headboard has been carved into a complicated filigree design. It had taken months to complete and been a true labor of love. She hadn’t replaced his wardrobe, but with her new woodworking skills, she has fixed its lean and carved it to match the ornate bed. 

He sees his discarded gloves, trousers, and boots and her red dress scattered on the floor of the chamber, but his shirt is nowhere to be found. He looks out the door to her balcony and sees her sitting on the ledge clad only in his white silk shirt, practicing conjuring crystals. She has one leg crooked up on the ledge while the other rests on the stone floor.

It’s a bittersweet scene, his shirt on her body acting as a symbol of her acceptance of him while she practices the magic necessary to leave him. _Driven_ , he thinks with a pang of regret followed immediately by guilt. He’ll support her as she works to return to her family, but he can’t help the jealousy that rises in him when he thinks of how she intends to leave.

With a wave of his hand, his trousers and boots are back on his body, and he moves to join her, willing himself to enjoy her company while she remains here with him.

Her eyes do not stray from her hands as she forms another crystal, though he knows she’s aware of his presence. 

He slides behind her, placing his hand on her hip and ghosting his lips along her neck.

“What did you think?” she asks as she moves her hands around the newly-formed crystal. It’s an interesting variation on how the crystals move for him. His seem to be attracted to him, insisting on staying connected with him. But Sarah’s crystals stay in one place while her hands hover around them. He peeks inside the crystal and sees himself and Sarah in a scene pulled directly from the night before. With her back to him, Jareth can’t see the look on Sarah’s face, but he imagines she is wearing a smile similar to his own.

“It will do,” he says, watching the figures in the crystal.

“You don’t think the end is too schmaltzy?” She lets the crystal pop, then leans back against him.

“It is, perhaps, more idealistic than what I originally intended for this story, but I can see the appeal.”

“Your goals were slightly different than mine.” There is no irritation in her voice. It is an understanding between them. They both know Jareth had revenge on his mind when he took on his role as Goblin King. Sarah’s intentions are quite different.

“You’re not worried about this affecting people who only want better lives for their children?” He is actually quite concerned about this. In his story, he had not sugarcoated the reality of what happens to the children who are wished away. Sarah’s new ending, where the children remain human, is fiction.

Sarah sits up and turns to look at him, her face uncertain. He doesn’t press her, allowing her the moment it takes to gather her thoughts.

“You told me when I started this to take my time and be absolutely certain about what I put in the book. That I would be ‘forever bound’ by what I wrote. I don’t want to be bound by the rules as they are now. You have an obligation to care for the goblins; I respect that. And I like the goblins...” 

He raises an eyebrow.

“I do!” she insists. “You were right about them. They’re silly and kind of sweet... But I’ll never get over the idea that they had their lives stolen from them.”

“My story appealed to selfish people who cared more about themselves than the people they were meant to protect. Yours will appeal to lost and lonely people looking for refuge. Are you prepared to take responsibility for what will happen to them when they come here?”

Sarah stands with a sigh and begins to pace. “Your story appealed to me because I was unhappy in my life. I felt ignored and taken advantage of. I was selfish and I cared more about myself than Toby, and, because of that, I said something cruel that I should never have said. But you showed me, way back when I was first here... You and your Labyrinth taught me how to think of people other than myself. I learned about loyalty and courage and how to persevere when the odds are stacked against me. I won and when I got home, I was better for having been through the experience.

“The thing is…,” she pauses, “I think you’re wrong. I think I would have grown out of that attitude eventually. You just sped up the process. I think there’s room for what you do. It may not have been what you intended when you built this place, but there’s value in it. You help people become better versions of themselves. You teach them what’s important.

“But then you keep what’s most important, what’s most valuable. And I get it! I really do! Those people… they don’t deserve to keep those precious children for themselves; not when they were so eager to be rid of them. But when they leave here, they aren’t those same people. Not anymore.

“I don’t know what fluke of luck allowed me to win that day, but when I think about what could have happened to Toby… I just…” she shakes her head, unable to voice the thought.

“There are people who wish their children away and don’t bother to get them back. I don’t know what to do about them.” She looks at Jareth, and he notices that she has tears in her eyes. “But the others? The ones like me who want them back, and who are willing to go the distance to get them back? Shouldn’t they have the chance to learn? To grow? To become the people they should have been all along? 

“We have the opportunity - the responsibility - to teach them. They call on us and we do what they ask, but then they leave us with their child and a new perspective.”

She continues her pacing, occasionally brushing a tear from her cheek. “But there are others, too, Jareth. I never fit in Above. I didn’t fit in before you and I certainly didn’t fit in after. I tried, I really did. But I was always considered too weird… I was always alone. And then I came here,” she pauses and chuckles, “and I was still alone. But it wasn’t the same. And maybe it was because the people of the Labyrinth knew who I would eventually be, but there was a sense of support here that I had never experienced before.

“Jareth,” she says as she stops pacing and looks him in the eyes. “We could be that for so many others. We could give a home to the lost and the lonely, the discarded and the hurting. We don’t have to be monsters. _We can be heroes._ ”

He stands from the ledge and wraps her in his arms. He kisses the top of her head and encourages her to rest her cheek against his chest. He needs her to understand that he is concerned for her before he points out how her plans may fall disastrously apart.

“You understand, then, that you will be transforming innocent people into goblins? You’ll take responsibility for them?”

She sniffs and he can feel the wetness of her tears on his chest. She pulls away to look up at him. “I don’t want to turn anyone into a goblin. You know that.”

“That is what will happen if you bring them here.”

“We will find a way to change it, Jareth. I know we will. That book,” she points to where it lays in her bedchamber, “is the future.”

“Sarah, you’re increasing the stakes of this game. Will you be able to handle the repercussions should you lose?”

“This was never a game to me.”

Jareth nods, understanding. 

“Very well,” he says. “It’s time.”

“Time?” she asks, confused.

“Time for you to become queen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story.
> 
> Acknowledgments:  
> In addition to _Labyrinth_ , this work is inspired by the Gary Jules cover of the song "Mad World" by Tears for Fears, a prompt from the Livejournal Labyfic community, and by my friend M. who will probably not read this, but should be acknowledged nonetheless.
> 
> This story has been beta'd by Aurora Kemanche and Exulansis. As weeks continue to pass, it becomes clear just how much I've asked of them and just how much they have done with such kindness and good humor. I am so appreciative of their hard work, their supportive comments, and their always-constructive criticism. They make me think hard about the story, clarify vague ideas, and strengthen plot points. They are, in short, absolute stars.
> 
> "Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," is quoted from Alfred Lord Tennyson's "In Memoriam."
> 
> The scene on Sarah's balcony is modeled after Pika-la-Cynique's "Games of Patience," which is easily my favorite bit of Labyrinth fanart, and which can be found here: http://pika-la-cynique.deviantart.com/art/Commish-JS-Games-of-Patience-114648993
> 
> "We can be heroes," is, of course, from "Heroes" by David Bowie.
> 
> _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


	12. The Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: child neglect and abuse.

The newly-created balcony Sarah stands on affords a remarkable view of the castle grounds and the Labyrinth beyond. As she looks out over her new subjects, Sarah can’t believe she ever longed for this kind of attention. The pounding of her heart nearly drowns out the noise of the crowd. Their cheering fades to silence as Jareth steps toward her. The pendant he holds in his hands is a near replica of his own. It’s a fraction smaller than his, sized proportionally for her smaller frame. She pushes the hood of her red dress down, baring and bowing her head so Jareth can place the delicate silver chain around her neck, the pendant coming to rest between her breasts. 

Jareth steps to the side and in a loud, clear voice announces, “Her Majesty, Queen Sarah.” The crowd once more erupts into cheers.

She looks out over them, unsure how to act or what to do. After a moment, she turns to Jareth, looking for guidance. “Is it done?” she asks.

“Nearly,” he answers before taking her face in his hands and kissing her gently and thoroughly. The noise of the crowd swells. He pulls back with a grin. “Now it’s done.”

Blushing and eager to be out of the spotlight, Sarah waves to the crowd then pulls her hood over her hair and turns to go inside. The weight of the pendant is heavy around her neck, but she relishes the way it feels. It represents what she has worked so hard for: her ticket home.

Her book, bound in red leather, sits on a table inside the room. She crosses to it then waits for Jareth to join her. _He looks happy_ , she thinks, as he comes in from the balcony, and the thought makes her feel warm all over.

She smiles at him as he comes closer, eager to get to her next task: sending the book Above.

“I’d like to try sending the book Above now,” she says.

His smile slips a little as he asks, “The entire Labyrinth is celebrating your coronation. We should attend the festivities.”

“I’ll go after,” she says. “I don’t want to waste any time.”

“Is the book is exactly as you want it to be?”

She nods, serious. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Very well.” His face is now as serious as her own. She knows he worries that she won’t be able to stop the magic that changes humans into goblins. She’s gambling with the goblins’ existence as well as the lives of the humans who may eventually join them, but she also knows that the gamble is a necessary one.

He crosses behind her and rests his hands on her hips. She leans back into him, taking comfort in his warm presence. 

“Capture it in a crystal,” he says, his voice nearly a whisper.

She holds her hands out, conjures a crystal, and wills the book into it.

“Now, find the barrier between the Underground and Above and _push_.”

She closes her eyes and wills the book Above. The barrier becomes immediately apparent, but it doesn’t feel quite as solid as it had when she’d encountered it in the past. She pushes the crystal against the barrier, willing it through to the other side. She can feel sweat break out across her forehead as she concentrates all of her power on forcing the crystal through, but after a moment, she realizes that brute force won’t work. She needs to finesse it through, find a path. She has been practicing magic for years and now realizes why it was necessary that she work so hard. She thinks of her experience building the ice labyrinth, learning instruments, and how to sew. She recalls how to clean, how to nurture plants, and how to fly. All of it is necessary. All of it helps her find a path through the thick sludge of the barrier between the worlds. She uses everything, every bit of experience, every scrap of knowledge, and yet the barrier holds strong. Doubts begin to invade her thoughts. She hadn’t worked hard enough. She should have done more, tried harder, worked longer.

Suddenly, something gives. It’s not a snap or a break, but a sudden release of pressure, and Sarah feels her legs collapse out from under her.

Jareth catches her before she can hit the floor, swinging her into his arms and quickly transporting them both to her chamber.

“What happened?” she asks, barely clinging to consciousness. She hasn’t felt this weak or tired since her dreamwalk, an experience she has been loath to repeat, unwilling to spend a week or more recovering when she could be working. She’s too weakened to panic, but she feels a sense of dread as she asks, “Did it break?”

He lays her gently on her bed, and she can feel the weight of the pendant against her chest. She was promised she could return Above when she became queen. She feels cheated and disappointed, but doesn’t have the energy to express it.

Jareth smiles at her. “Sarah, this is a good thing,” he says. “Dealing with the Above is still new for you. It will get easier. For now, try to find your book.”

She is so tired that she wants to cry, but she closes her eyes and searches for some connection to her book. It’s not bright like the beacon of a person whose name she knows. The connection is tenuous and slippery. She manages to find it, though: a filament of thread as red as her dress. It’s like the string of a high-flying kite. She tugs on it and feels the resistance. Her disappointment evaporates and is replaced with pure, exhausted elation. She manages only a smile before her body gives in to sleep.

Waking feels like reliving the morning after her dreamwalk, but Jareth is by her side once more with his hangover cure. She’d missed her coronation celebrations, but the euphoria of her successful transfer of her lure to the Above stays with her throughout her recovery and for weeks after.

Slowly, however, as weeks and months pass, the feeling is replaced by anxiety. She can feel the book Above, waiting for someone to find it, to read it, and to internalize it. She can sense when someone reads it, but more often than not, the right connection isn’t made, and the reader moves on.

The book changes hands frequently, never staying still for long. She can’t afford for it to stay on one bookshelf for years at a time.

Her frustration grows. She needs someone to read her book and invoke the goblins or she’ll never get out of the Underground.

“I just don’t know what to do with myself,” she says to Jareth one evening as they lay together in her bed. 

He has practically moved in with her, which thrills her as much as it surprises her. She’d always assumed he’d be more comfortable in his own chamber, but when she mentions it, all he says is, “There’s no place I’d rather be.” 

“What did you do after you sent _The Labyrinth_ Above?” she asks.

“I kept building,” he responds. “I kept learning and honing my powers. I must admit,” he adds as he nuzzles her neck, placing soft kisses under her ear, “I prefer the manner in which I’m spending my time now.”

She can’t disagree with the sentiment, not when she is warm in his embrace, but when she is alone, she finds herself at loose ends, impatient and increasingly uneasy about the passage of time. She feels helpless, waiting around for someone else to call her.

Until, one day, it happens.

She senses the magic accumulating, almost as if it is gathering itself up, and preparing itself. The tiny filament of connection between her and the book thickens and strengthens, becoming a steel chain that will yank her Above, whether she wills it or not.

She can hear the voice. It’s angry, surprisingly angry, and the words are spoken with such venom that Sarah is taken aback. What could have happened to cause someone to speak them with such wholehearted malice?

The chain is pulling and Sarah is eager to allow it to drag her Above. She holds on tight, though she couldn’t let go even if she tried. The air around her is thick and sticky, as if she’s being dragged through water. She can’t breathe and she can’t see. She hits the barrier, but there is only a momentary pause before she cuts through it as if it is jello.

And then she is Above.

It’s the smell that registers first. The air is thick with the scent of rot and feces. She thinks she’s transported to an outhouse, but then her sense of sight kicks in, and she realizes that it isn’t an outhouse at all. Outhouses are usually cleaner.

She thinks she’s in a house, but it’s unlike any she’s seen before. It is dark, though some light streams in through the open front door. The room in which she stands is tiny and utterly filled with garbage. Rotting food, trash, and dirty clothes surround her in heaps. Underneath it all, she can tell there is a couple of couches, but what little she can see of the furniture is torn and so filthy that the original color is indiscernible. There are two windows in the room, and both are missing panes of glass. Someone has folded blankets and shoved them into the spaces where the glass used to be. Sarah can feel cockroaches under her feet every time she takes a step. She cringes and for the first time in years unknowable, she wishes she wore shoes.

But she is not alone in this hellish place. Two women are with her. They are an exercise in contrasts. One, pale-skinned, obese, and dirty, wears only a threadbare nightgown. The other, dark-skinned, slim, and dressed in a skirted suit is holding what appears to be a child, roughly seven years of age. The first thought in Sarah’s head is that the child is too old to be held, but then she gets a closer look. The child, a pale girl, is filthy and dressed only in a disgusting, leaking diaper. She has a head of thick brown hair that has been allowed to grow long and matted. The girl’s rib bones stick out prominently from her chest and her arms and legs are knobbier than should be natural. The girl has been starved, Sarah quickly realizes. Sarah looks into the girl’s eyes, which do not return her gaze or focus on anything in the room, and realizes with horror that the girl is much older than seven years.

The thinner woman, whom Sarah quickly realizes is a caseworker, recovers from the shock of Sarah’s arrival far more quickly than the other woman. “Take her!” she shouts, using her chin to point at the woman in the nightgown. “I wish for you to take _her_!”

The other woman, slower to come to terms with the sudden appearance of a very eccentrically dressed being in her living room, seems to come out of her stupor at this new threat. “Help! She’s kidnapping my daughter!” she shouts in return. “Stop her!”

Sarah looks between the two women, unsure how to proceed. “Do you know who I am?”

The woman in the nightgown has only a moment to look baffled before she is startled by the rustling of the trash behind her. A chittering, giggling sound erupts from behind the sofa, causing her to gasp.

The caseworker doesn’t flinch. “You’re the Goblin Queen,” she says, and then nods to a spot behind Sarah. “And he’s the Goblin King.” The woman is frightened, but there is also a sense of awe about her as she acknowledges Jareth’s presence.

Sarah looks over her shoulder to see Jareth standing behind her wearing his full black armor. When he had visited her childhood home, he had seemed to take pleasure in her reaction to him, but there is no hint of humor in his face now. He had looked out of place standing in her parents’ bedroom so many years ago, but here, the contrast between his polished image and the squalor around him is even more pronounced. There is no magical residue drifting on the air and his cape doesn’t billow in the non-existent wind. He stands, arms crossed across his chest, with a glower on his face that would freeze a demon in its tracks. This situation, her first time being called Above, is a special case, she realizes. A child has not been wished away; an adult has.

“You’re real,” the woman all but breathes. “I never thought in a million years…”

“What happened here?” Sarah asks.

The caseworker begins, “A neighbor called the pol…”

Her words are cut off by the woman in the nightgown as she shouts, “She broke into my house and tried to kidnap my baby!” The large woman lunges for the caseworker, who only holds the child closer, seemingly unconcerned about the filth leaking onto her skirt. “Put her down right now!” the woman screams. The child whines.

Sarah puts herself between the two women and, as she moves, she cringes at the feel of the detritus crunching under her bare feet.

The house makes the normal state of the Castle Beyond the Goblin City look like an ad in _Better Homes and Gardens_ , but Sarah realizes that the mess in this house isn’t an inconvenience; it’s evidence. She won’t whisk it away, but she can keep it out from underfoot. With a small amount of will, the garbage under her feet disappears and the carpet smooths and softens.

With that distraction out of the way, she turns to the woman in the nightgown. “What’s your name?” she asks, and for the first time, Sarah notices the state she’s in. The woman has not washed in a long time. Her hair lays in greasy strands flat against her head. Dried flecks of saliva cling to her mouth and she has been picking at her skin. Open wounds, red and raw, dot her face.

Momentarily stunned by the simple question, the woman simply responds, “Michelle.”

Sarah feels the rush of power, the knowledge of her ability to control this woman. She’s Sarah’s now.

“Michelle,” she says softly. “Be quiet.”

Michelle, offended, takes a step back and places one hand on her chest, as if the shock of being told to stop talking has damaged her heart. “Did you just…? I can’t believe…!” but she isn’t able to finish a thought before Sarah makes a gesture, and she loses the ability to open her mouth. 

Sarah narrows her eyes and approaches the woman. Michelle’s eyes widen in horror as she watches Sarah come nearer, unsure what the strange woman intends to do. Her eyes flit to Jareth, but he only stands watching, a look of pure menace on his face. Sarah smiles wickedly and leans in closely, invading Michelle’s personal space, and blows gently against her ear, ensuring the woman knows that Sarah isn’t afraid to be near her. “Be still, or I will make you still,” she whispers.

Michelle, uninfluenced by magic, becomes stiff as a board.

Sarah steps away from the woman and turns to the caseworker. “Now,” she says, in a far more businesslike tone, “As you were saying.”

The caseworker’s eyes are nearly as frightened as those of the filthy woman. She looks from Sarah to Jareth and back to Sarah again as if she understands that a threat exists, but isn’t exactly sure from which direction it will come. She catches movement from the corner of her eye, but when she twists to see what’s happening, the movement stops and the air fills with the sound of raspy laughter.

“A neighbor called the police to report a child that looked severely malnourished. The police were dispatched and when they arrived, they found this little girl in there.” The caseworker shifts the girl to point a finger toward another dark room.

Sarah gingerly steps to the door. It is dark, too dark for her to see, so she tries the light switch. Nothing. With a flip of her hand a crystal appears just over her palm. Sarah brings it close to her face and blows gently on it. As she does, a light begins to glow from within it. The light continues to grow until it illuminates the small space. 

Disgust overwhelms her.

At one time, the room had had windows, but they’ve all been boarded over. Much like the living room, this room is filled with trash and rotting food and clothing. Someone has pushed an old mattress against one wall and Sarah can tell that the little girl in the caseworker’s arms had probably, just until recently, been laying on it. It is caked with excrement and Sarah can tell just by looking at it that it is soaking wet. The smell of sweat, feces, urine, and rot is overwhelming, and she has to turn away before she begins to gag.

Sarah turns back toward the women in the living room and reassesses the little girl in the caseworker’s arms. That the girl has been neglected is indisputable, but how had this happened. Why had it been allowed to go on for so long?

A plan begins to form in Sarah’s mind, but first, she needs to hear the other side of the story.

“Is this true?” she asks the woman in the nightgown. She doesn’t move, nor does she speak. For a moment, Sarah worries that she is inadvertently controlling the woman. She checks the connection between herself and Michelle and finds it strong, but also senses that something else has a hold on her.

She doesn’t have much time to think about what might have the woman under its control before the woman crumples into a heap on the floor amidst the greasy bags and dirty clothes and begins to cry deep wracking sobs that shake her whole body. Sarah is shocked that the overwhelming emotion she feels at the display is disgust. Without meaning to, she scoffs audibly, and Michelle overhears.

“I’m doing the best I can!” she shouts. “You just don’t know how hard it is!”

Sarah thinks on that for a moment. Michelle is right, in a way; Sarah truly doesn’t know how hard the woman has it, but she can’t imagine any scenario in which leaving a child in her own filth was anyone’s “best.” 

A box precariously balanced on top of papers and fast food cups falls from a table near the sofa. As it hits the floor, it pops open, spilling a glass pipe and clear baggie containing some small, whitish rocks. The chittering and giggling grows louder.

Jareth finally moves from his pose, leaning down to investigate what has fallen from the box. He runs a gloved finger over the spilled contents, his face growing darker and angrier as the seconds pass. Sarah isn’t sure what he’s seeing, but she can guess that the box contained some kind of illegal drug. 

“Are there any other children here?” he says, finally breaking his silence. His voice is cold. Deadly.

Michelle doesn’t speak, too terrified now that her secret is out to say anything else.

“Search the house,” he commands, and Sarah understands he’s speaking to the goblins that have accompanied him, the ones who have been sifting through the mess of the house, throwing the mortal women off their guard. If there are any other children, they will find them. 

Sarah is impressed with the way they move, the way they stay just out of sight while ensuring that the mortals are aware of their presence. Fast food bags crinkle and pizza boxes shift. Lumps under articles of clothing move quickly before disappearing suddenly. If the situation weren’t so dire, she’d find it funny.

Jareth listens intently to the whispering sounds of the goblins as they complete their rounds of the house. He stands and shakes his head at Sarah. No other children.

Sarah gives him a nod and turns back to the caseworker. “The Goblin Kingdom is not in the habit of taking adults,” she pauses, realizing she doesn’t know what to call the woman. “What is your name?” she asks, absently.

The caseworker hesitates before replying. “Stacey,” she finally says.

Sarah feels no pull, no sense of power or ownership. She grins. “Liar.”

This woman is clever. She might not have realized that the Goblin King and Queen are real, but the instant she knew, she remembered all of her lore. “As I said, we don’t usually take adults, and so I will not offer you your dreams. I’ll be doing you a favor, and I want you to do one for me in exchange..”

Stacey’s eyes widen. She’s unsure she wants to bargain with the Goblin Queen.

“Where did you hear my story?”

The caseworker adjusts the child in her arms, shifting the little girl’s weight to one side to free one of her own arms. Though the girl is small, she must be getting heavy. “It was a book I borrowed from the library. Years ago, back when I was still a kid.”

“Find that book,” Sarah commands. “Find it and have copies made. Then distribute them to libraries, schools, bookstores… wherever people look for books. Get the story out there. And when you run out of copies, tell the story to your children.” She looks at the little girl in Stacey’s arms. She can sense the damage that has been done to her. She would improve, but she would never be what she might have been. Her potential has been unnaturally curtailed. It makes Sarah furious. “We will give these children a way out of situations like this. We will save them.” 

The caseworker nods. “I can make that deal.”

Sarah produces a crystal on her fingertips and holds it out to Stacey.

The instant the caseworker touches the crystal, Sarah and Jareth vanish, taking Michelle with them.

 

The three reappear Underground in an uninhabited section of the Labyrinth right outside the door of an oubliette. The pale woman looks frightened and confused, but her ears have already begun to lengthen and she shrinking and becoming squatter, her skin turning a sickly shade of green. Her terror will not last much longer, a luxury she had not provided her daughter.

Sarah watches the transformation with clinical curiosity. She tests the connection she has to her new subject, and she can sense all the ways in which she can control her. But the one thing she can’t seem to control is the transformation. It’s not that she hadn’t believed Jareth when he said he could do nothing about it, but it’s disappointing to discover that what he said is true. She can sense that one other attachment and recognizes it now as a chemical dependency. Sarah snaps the bond, releasing its hold on her, and ensuring that she can be controlled only by the King or Queen of the Labyrinth.

“It is now your duty to guard this oubliette and see that no one ever comes out.” Sarah issues the command, but does not magically enforce it. This goblin will have the agency to choose whether or not to carry out the order, but Sarah binds her to this section of the maze. She can move about of her own free will, but she will never leave this forsaken section of the Labyrinth. She will experience what she forced on her own flesh: the loneliness, the hunger, and the entrapment.

Sarah turns her back on the creature as its hands and feet continue to grow, its body shortening and widening, white tufts of hair sprouting from its ears. 

Jareth, uncharacteristically quiet, stands at the exit to part of the Labyrinth, arms crossed and an expression of stern disapproval on his face. Her heart leaps into her throat as she wonders what she could have done to earn such a look.

Then she remembers…

He knows as well as she does what being called Above for the first time means. She is now free to come and go as she pleases. Will she choose to stay with her family Above? She feels giddy at the thought of returning to them, finally seeing them again after all these years.

But she can’t give up her dream of making the Labyrinth into something more than it is now. She can see its potential as clearly as she can see the potential of the children that are brought here. Something somewhere is blocking that potential, curtailing it, and forcing them to live within its confines.

And then there’s Jareth. She can’t give up on him, either. She knows there is no one else in this reality or any other who will understand her on the level that Jareth does. They’re a team, the two of them, and they will work together to create something bigger and better than the life they had thrust upon them. 

She can reconnect with her family, let them know she’s still alive, but stay with Jareth, work with him, and maybe, when she figures out how to stop humans from changing into goblins, her family can join them and they can all be together.

“Do you realize what you have done?” he says in an icy cold voice when she reaches him.

“What?” Sarah nearly steps backward in astonishment at his tone. Jareth knows how the magic works, how could he be blaming her for the new goblin?

“That abomination,” he nods at the goblin, his newest subject, “does not belong here.”

A memory hits her with sudden and painful clarity. _I did not take you. Do you know why? Because you are not good enough to be here._ Jareth didn’t keep just anyone in the Labyrinth. There were no criminals or abusers here. He kept the innocent. He kept creatures seeking asylum and refuge. 

“What was I supposed to do?” she asks, genuinely baffled.

“Your goal was to find people Above who are hurting and give them a chance at a new life. The woman you took was not a victim. She does not deserve a second chance.”

“I took that woman in exchange for getting our story out to more people. The more people who know about us, the more we can save. It was a good deal.”

“You tried, convicted, and punished a woman. This was not part of your plan.”

Sarah’s eyes narrow. “Do you mean to tell me that you steal innocent children from their families and turn them into monsters, but you draw the line at punishing bad people?” she asks angrily. 

He takes a step forward, challenging her. “Once again, you turn my world upside down and expect me to clean up after you.” 

“That’s rich,” Sarah scoffs. “Do I need to remind you of the state of the castle when I got here? And what about the Bog? You’d still be drowning in muck if it weren’t for me!”

“As I recall,” he says, his voice deadly. “You did those things for yourself. And as _you’ll_ recall,” he continues, “I take nothing that is not freely given.”

She narrows her own eyes and meets his step forward with one of her own. “You keep saying you don’t kidnap babies, but you do take them, and you change them. You keep them from becoming the people they were supposed to be and then you insist that they’re happy about it. And now you’re mad because I did it to one person who actually deserved to be turned into a monster?”

“You brought evil into the Labyrinth.”

“I’ve got news for you, Jareth: evil was already here. What do you think is turning people into goblins in the first place?”

“You wrote about turning the Labyrinth into a refuge for the people who are not wanted Above, and you have instead turned it into a prison,” he accuses.

“The Labyrinth was always a prison,” she spits. “But not for me. Not anymore.”

She’s seen that look on Jareth’s face only once before, so long ago, when she was a fifteen year old kid. When she sees it this time, she feels as if someone is squeezing her heart. She hadn’t intended to leave without him. She had been picturing walking up her front steps hand-in-hand with him, knocking on her front door, having him beside her during her tearful reunion with her family. It was the way it was supposed to go. 

She ignores the hurt, hardening her heart against him. This is the moment she’s been waiting for for so long, and he’s ruining it with his stupid hypocritical beliefs and unwavering confidence that he is always right. Her fury rises up, red and ugly. 

“I’m leaving now, Jareth. With or without you.” 

She steps past him, brushing him with her shoulder as she passes, and concentrates on returning Above. It’s easier, far easier, than she ever imagined it could be and in a split second, she’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story.
> 
> Acknowledgments:  
> In addition to _Labyrinth_ , this work is inspired by the Gary Jules cover of the song "Mad World" by Tears for Fears, a prompt from the Livejournal Labyfic community, and by my friend M. who will probably not read this, but should be acknowledged nonetheless.
> 
> This story has been beta'd by Aurora Kemanche and Exulansis, who are both so great that I may never run out of nice things to say about them. I wish there was a way to draw back the curtain and let you see just how much work they've done. If you're enjoying this story, it's probably because of their contributions.
> 
>  _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


	13. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where do all the secrets live?_  
>  _They travel in the air_  
>  _You can smell them when they burn_  
>  _They travel_  
>  _Those who say the past is not dead_  
>  _Can stop and smell the smoke_  
>  _You keep saying the past is not dead_  
>  _Well, stop and smell the smoke_  
>  -Ben Folds Five, “Smoke”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warning: sexual assault**

She’s gone.

He stares at the space she occupied just before she disappeared. He has been aware of her presence in the Labyrinth since her arrival so long ago, and her sudden absence leaves him feeling empty, as if a piece of himself has gone with her. He can’t sense her when she’s Above. He has no authority there, and he doesn’t have her name. But he can’t let it end like this; he refuses to allow her to use an argument as a reason to abandon him just as she gains her freedom. 

Although he does not have her name, he knows where she is going. He follows in an instant, before she can move on to places he won’t be able to follow.

He spots her immediately, a lone splash of color in the grey landscape. She stands with her back to him in the middle of what used to be a road. If she’s aware of his presence, she doesn’t show it. He holds himself back, giving her space, watching from a distance as she takes in her surroundings. He wonders if she recognizes anything; he’s sure he doesn’t.

The sea has taken over the land and laps at her feet. He expects her to wade in, the way she does in the Labyrinth, to explore the depths, her curiosity stronger than any sense of propriety. But she doesn’t. She simply stands, looking out over the water, as the sun goes down behind them.

Time hadn’t just passed here; it had run out long ago. Whatever calamity has befallen this community is widespread and had to have occurred over the span of decades, if not centuries. A vague impression of roads and sidewalks remain, the remnants of asphalt and cement barely visible through the tall weeds and grasses. The poles that had once held up powerlines and telephone wires are long gone. He wonders if they were removed for safety or if the wood was needed elsewhere. The few remaining living trees seem to struggle to eke out their existence. 

His head is full of worry, second-thoughts, and regrets. This moment was inevitable, he knows. He’s been mulling it over from the moment she dropped into his throne room so long ago. Despite his efforts, he wonders if there’s more he could have done to spare her this. Would it have been better to have dashed her dreams in the beginning? To keep her from hoping that a return to her old life was possible?

They are not all-powerful, a fact that is easy for them both to forget. One becomes accustomed to having one’s will obeyed. He frequently falls into that trap despite numerous reminders from Warrin that there is always a higher power. Sarah does not yet have Jareth’s skill, but she also doesn’t have as strict a warden. The only person who holds that power over her does not choose to wield it.

He expects her to cry, and the suspense as he waits for her to break is unbearable. If she broke, he would know what to do. He would know to comfort her, to assure her that he is here for her, whatever she needs. 

But she doesn’t break. She stands, the hot wind coming in off the sea rippling her dress and blowing strands of her hair that escape from under her hood. The scene would be beautiful, is beautiful, despite the tragedy.

He keeps his eyes trained on her as she turns and walks toward him, looking for any signal that he is wanted or needed, but she gives him nothing, keeping her head down, eyes on the ground. She stops an arm’s length away from him, her body language screaming _do not touch._

“I’m ready,” she says, her voice low, almost husky.

“Would you like to go back to the castle?” he asks. It’s the obvious place, the place he would go, the place he _did_ go, after his return to his old home. His anger toward her has evaporated; the argument over the new goblin seeming small and petty in comparison to this disaster. Whatever she wants, she can have. Wherever she’d like to go, he will take her. He will not deny her anything in this moment.

She meets his gaze now, and there are no tears in her eyes. There is only blazing fury.

“No,” she says, and he realizes that she is shivering, though the weather is uncomfortably warm. “I have to see Elga.”

 

Sarah does not spare a thought for Jareth when she leaves him on the edge of that unfamiliar sea. That place… she can’t call it her home, though she could sense it out underneath all of that water: a bright beacon that signaled “home” to her. She imagines it will always be there, signaling where she came from. There is another beacon, much smaller, less bright, that indicates the one other place she’d visited Above. She thinks that, over time, other beacons will join it, but nothing will ever shine as brightly as the one under the water. The one that will always bring her pain.

When she arrives at Warrin’s Soirée, the party is in full swing, as always, but as she marches through the room, the men and women in attendance give her a wide berth. They stare at her as she passes, their eyes hungry and their mouths pulled into strange, anticipatory smiles. They seem to know why she is here, and they are eager for a show. She could approach any of them, she knows. They would not pull away from her. She could take them by the hand, lead them to a private alcove, and they would follow. These creatures are shallow, caring only for momentary pleasure and passing interests. They do not think in the long-term, and she has no time for that, even though she now knows that she has all the time in the world.

She’s on a mission, a mission she should have been working on since day one. She should have pressed Elga for more information rather than allowing the woman to simply ignore her as she struggled to return Above in the most difficult, most time-consuming way. Elga has stolen her life and Sarah needs to know why. She passes through the ball, which carries on as if she had never made an appearance and passes through a side door into the chamber to which Warrin had brought her so many years before.

The room is empty but for a large gilded chair. She pauses long enough to get her bearings, then turns to go through the door on the far side of the room, the one in which Elga had appeared to separate Sarah from Warrin’s company.

She doesn’t make it to the door.

“Are you ready to be serious?”

Sarah spins around to find Elga sitting in the chair, looking bored and irritable, and inspecting her fingernails.

“Why?” Sarah asks. “Why did you do it?”

“Why did I do what?” Elga finally turns her full attention to Sarah, her expression void of curiosity or compassion. “Why did I save you from Warrin and his plans?”

Sarah half-laughs, a sound of disbelief. “Save me? You _stole_ me from my family! _You stole my life!_ ” Her voice rises with every sentence. Shouting releases the pain and helps her fight off the tears that threaten to fall. She will not cry in front of this monster of a woman.

Elga stands to confront Sarah face-to-face, her demeanor matter-of-fact. “Your life was over when your left your father’s home. You just didn’t know it yet. I didn’t steal you from your family; I stole you from Warrin, and you should be on your knees thanking me that I did.” The woman stands close to Sarah, almost nose-to-nose, but Sarah refuses to flinch. 

“I have given you one task. One task that you have ignored in all your time Underground. I have not summoned you. I have not tortured you. I have not forced you to do anything against your will. Warrin would not be so kind. And you storm in here to confront me over your lot? Your anger is misplaced. You should have figured that out by now.

“You have been a grave disappointment to me. I went out of my way for you, but you have ignored my words just as you have ignored your task.” 

“How can you be so cruel?” Sarah asks, morbidly curious. 

“Cruel? Dearest, you don’t know true cruelty. You stand here choking on your tears while you hold more power in your hands than any mortal could ever dream. You have the knowledge to change your circumstances, but you prefer to play games and build castles with your pretty boy.

“Sweetheart,” she says, her tone almost sweet. “Not a woman Underground blames you; he is quite a dish, and we’ve all had a taste.” Sarah feels her gorge rise as Elga’s voice turns cold. “But if you had been serious about wanting to return to your family, your focus would have been on them and not on more _carnal_ desires.”

Elga’s invocation of Jareth infuriates Sarah, and she loses her temper. She raises a hand to hit the woman, but finds she is unable to move.

Elga’s demeanor shifts from cold to furious. “You would strike me, little girl? Perhaps you need a reminder of who controls you.”

Icy fear grips Sarah as her hands move against her will, pulling her hood down and slipping the red silk off her shoulders and over her hips. Her dress falls silently from her body and she stands, fabric twisted around her ankles, naked and ashamed in front of her torturer. For years, she considered this bit of cloth to be a burden, something she has had to alter and tinker with until it was just tolerable. But here, in this horrible place, it was her armor, and now it’s gone.

“I have named you, and I have kept that name deep in my heart where no one else may find it and take you from me. I _own_ you, dear daughter, and I can do with you as I please.” She gently lifts the pendant from between Sarah’s breasts, running her thumb over the metal, before grasping it tightly and giving it a sharp pull. Sarah flinches as she feels the silver chain snap. “I can strip you of everything you have earned and everything you have learned as easily as I have stripped you of the rags you call clothing. Putting you in the Labyrinth was far more difficult than removing you would ever be.” She drops the pendant, the symbol of Sarah’s rank and power, at her feet. “There are many lands Underground. So many that, even if he were somehow able to work out how to get to any of them, our dearest Jareth would never be able to find you. And I would leave you powerless, naked, and hungry, cursed to live out eternity alone in the coldest, darkest, dampest pit of reality, where your misery would be so great that you would forget Jareth, you would forget your family, and eventually, you would forget even yourself.

“Now… how can I be so cruel?”

A single tear falls from Sarah’s eye and her face burns with shame.

“You have a job, you stupid girl. You have one purpose here, and one purpose alone: to do my bidding. You have your instructions. Figure it out, idiot child, or I will make that dark eternity your reality.”

Sarah feels herself falling, the air rushing over her body and through her hair. She lands hard on soft earth and crumples to the ground, the air forced from her lungs. She rolls onto her knees, forehead resting in the dirt, catching her breath. When she finally looks up, she recognizes her surroundings. She’s in the Bog, the beautiful garden she had created with her friends. Her refuge.

It’s dying.

All around her, the plants are fading, yellowing, and rotting. The boughs of the trees droop as their leaves and needles fall from them. She looks around in horror as the water in the Bog lowers, thickens, and starts to stink.

This isn’t natural, and it isn’t her doing. Elga has done this; is doing this. She can control Sarah and she can control the land. There is no one to turn to for help and there is no escape. 

She has nothing. No plan. No hope. No family.

No Jareth.

She curls in on herself and weeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story.
> 
> Acknowledgments:  
> In addition to _Labyrinth_ , this work is inspired by the Gary Jules cover of the song "Mad World" by Tears for Fears, Challenge #26: By the Pier in the Livejournal Labyfic Community, and by my friend M. who will probably not read this, but should be acknowledged nonetheless.
> 
> Fun fact: Labyfic challenge #26 was due by September 23, 2015, but I didn’t actually see it until November 2015. 
> 
> I read the prompt and started developing a Dark!Jareth drabble that I thought might be fun. That night, I went to dinner with some girlfriends (M. included) who indulged me while I checked my email constantly for feedback on _He Who Trespassed Against Us_ , which I had posted to AO3 that afternoon. Eventually, they asked if I had any ideas for new fics and I shared my drabble idea. M. looked intrigued and began asking questions. Lots of questions. Lots and lots and lots of questions. And I kept coming up with ideas to satisfy her questions. Roughly an hour later, I turned to her and said, “This is no longer a drabble.” And she smiled sweetly and responded, “Nope.” 
> 
> The original drabble I imagined appears in this chapter. My pier disappeared somewhere along the way, and Dark!Jareth became Good!Jareth, but this story would not exist without Challenge #26. Thank you Labyfic! The original challenge post can be found here: http://labyfic.livejournal.com/168174.html
> 
> The title of this chapter and the quoted lyric comes from the Ben Folds Five song “Smoke.” The album on which it appears, _Whatever and Ever Amen_ , came out 20 years ago and I’ve been seeing articles about it popping up on my Facebook feed for weeks. I bought my first copy in 1997 and pretty much wore it out. Songs from the album have remained on my daily playlist since I got my first MP3 player. This chapter wasn’t inspired by the song, but as I was relistening to the album, this song was so on-point that I felt compelled to title the chapter after it. Perhaps, somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain, this song inspired this fic after all. 
> 
> This story has been beta'd by Aurora Kemanche and Exulansis who have been so kind to volunteer their time and expertise to ensure this story contains few (if any) misspellings, grammar errors, punctuation errors, or plot holes. I have a nasty tendency to continue editing after incorporating beta feedback into the work, so if you catch any of the aforementioned mistakes, those are all on me. As far as I’m concerned, these two ladies are perfect human beings.
> 
>  _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


	14. Nodus Tollens

He finds her in the Bog, her back against a dying tree, crying silent tears. She looks small and defeated as she sits in the dirt, the shaggy grey and white dog leaning against her with his head in her lap, where she strokes it absently. 

He had followed her to the Soirée, seen her cross the ballroom to Warrin’s chamber, but he had been unable to follow. The revelers had put themselves in his way, pawing at him and inviting him to dance, among other things. He denied them all, intent on reaching Sarah. She was in no fit state to confront anyone, let alone Elga. But as he got closer to the door, the air became thick and impenetrable. Trapped on the other side of the barrier, he could do nothing but watch and wait for Sarah to leave. It took him far too long to realize that she had left by some means other than the door. 

She is all he sees at first, his concern for her overwhelming. He gives no thought even to her missing red dress. But then the smell hits him. He looks around to find its source and sees finally that the Bog has died, returning to its fetid and rotten state. He turns his attention back to Sarah, sitting at the base of the tree, seeming not to notice the stench that surrounds them.

She cannot stay here in this dead place. He begins to approach her, but is immediately stopped by swift movement on his right.

“Stop!” Sir Didymus cries, brandishing his little sword as he jumps onto the path between his king and queen. It takes him a fraction of a second to recognize Jareth. “Your Majesty!” he says, bowing low. “My deepest apologies!”

“Sir Didymus, you have done your job well. Please return to your bridge. I will take it from here.” If circumstances weren’t so dire, he might have found the knight’s actions humorous. As it is, Jareth appreciates that Didymus stood guard over his queen. The little fox may be no match for Jareth, but he is a fierce warrior in his own right, and woe to those who discover just how capable he is at his job.

The knight bows again and steps aside, allowing Jareth access to the path leading to Sarah. He approaches her slowly, as if sudden movements might frighten her, but she does not acknowledge his presence. Ambrosius huffs at Jareth’s approach and stares up at him with doleful eyes.

Jareth crouches in front of Sarah and says her name. She doesn’t respond, choosing instead to just close her eyes, sending fresh tears down her cheeks. Didymus and his steed may be either too noseblind or duty-bound to notice the stench, but he will not tolerate it for himself or for his queen. He shifts, bracing himself with one knee on the ground and puts one arm under Sarah’s knees and another arm behind her back. She doesn’t fight him when he lifts her from the ground, and that’s when he notices that her pendant is missing as well.

His anger is rising. Someone will pay for what has happened today, both Above and Underground, but for now, he must attend to Sarah.

He takes two steps back from the tree, and vanishes with her in his arms. They instantly reappear in the chambers that they have been sharing, the clean air a blessed relief. With a nod, a large bathing vessel appears and fills with warm scented water. He kneels and gently lays Sarah in the clean water, soaking his shirtsleeves. She’s awake, but she will not look at him, preferring to keep her eyes closed, the occasional tear sliding down her face. A crystal summoned to his fingertips transforms into a flannel, and he uses it to gently dab her face and wash the bog dirt from her skin.

The Bog of Eternal Stench is no match for Jareth’s magic, and when Sarah is clean and smelling faintly of lavender, he lifts her from the water and lays her on the bed. She curls in on herself while he takes a moment to remove his own wet clothing. He joins her in the bed, pulling the covers over them both and pressing himself against her back, curling himself around her, lending her his warmth.

Abruptly, she turns in the bed, pressing her face to his chest, tangling her feet with his. She lets out a shuddering sob and then another. He holds her, stroking her hair as she releases her pain. He manages to keep his heart rate steady, but his anger is boiling. 

He feels her relax when she finally gives in to sleep, but he waits for her to go deeper, waits for her breathing to even out, for the hitching cries to cease before he dares to move. Standing from the bed, he looks at his queen, his heart nearly as broken as her own, before invoking his black armor and disappearing from the room. 

 

His stride through the ballroom is purposeful, and this time, the dancers stay out of his way. He can see the dark-haired woman on the far side of the room, holding court over a few simpering guests, her expression bored and imperious. Her face lights up when she sees him, and her beaming smile immediately puts him on his guard.

“Jareth, dear! What brings you here tonight?” she asks sweetly.

“What have you done to Sarah?” he asks, his black cloak swirling around him, lending him a menacing air that Elga’s guests respond to by stepping back slightly, though they continue to show a keen interest in this new development.

“Excuse us,” Elga says to her guests as she steps to the side, gesturing for Jareth to join her. She walks a small distance to the corner of the room for the appearance of privacy, though there is none to be found. The music plays on, but he knows everyone is watching.

“I have missed you,” she says turning back to Jareth. “It’s been so long since I’ve had someone interesting to talk to” She raises a hand to stroke his arm, an invitation. The thought of being with this woman, beautiful though she is, makes the bile rise in his throat. Sarah lies in their bed, unaware of his absence. He feels sick at the thought of being with someone else, even in this capacity, while she needs him. 

“What have you done?” he repeats, in no mood for games.

Elga sighs, stepping back slightly to lean against the wall, and crossing her arms across her chest, the smile dropping from her face. “Of all the women Above to choose from, Jareth, why her?” Her voice is disdainful, dismissive.

“Answer my question,” he commands, putting all of the authority of his office into his voice.

“Answer mine. You could have chosen anyone, but you chose a woman who looks suspiciously like me. It’s hard not to be flattered.” A playful glint appears in her eye, and he realizes she’s toying with him. “Although, I do think you could have chosen someone a little more intelligent. Someone you could talk to about games, strategy, and, oh, I don’t know…” She waves her hand as if trying to think of another suitable subject, “Literature?” Her voice rises at the end of the sentence as if she’s asking a question. “But perhaps she’s easier to play with? Hmm? Easier to manipulate?” She enunciates each syllable of the word, stretching it out and exaggerating the movement of her tongue. “You do love a good game, as I recall. How unfair to play such an important one with such a naive opponent.” Her tone turns disapproving. “Quite the mismatch, if you ask me.”

“Is that why you torture her? Because you think she’s easy to manipulate?”

“Oh, my darling,” she responds, “If she were that easy to manipulate, she would have gone home decades ago. It is as they say, ‘You can lead a horse to water…’”

“What would you have her do?” he interrupts, his frustration reaching a breaking point.

“Only what I have asked.”

Elga’s refusal to answer his questions makes him lose his temper. He grabs her by the shoulders and presses her against the wall, holding her there. He can feel the attention of the party-goers on him. The small gaggle of guests she had been talking to a moment earlier look on with eager fascination.

Elga looks pleased, easily as amused as her guests. “Is this how you hope to gain answers? Violence? How delightfully uncivil!”

“Tell me what she needs to do.”

She laughs heartily. “Oh, dear! How does this part of the story go?” She thinks for a moment before looking him in the eye. “Oh, that’s right. _You have no power over me._ Now, tell me, Jareth, now that I’ve said the line, do you love me as much as you love her?”

He releases her, letting her drop lightly to her feet. She continues smiling beatifically, ignoring the stares of the other guests.

“I have no power over you,” he admits, “But I know who does.” 

Elga steps forward, the look in her eyes rapturous with delight. “Are you threatening to tattle, Jareth?”

“I will do what I need to do.”

“It seems both our destinies are in someone else’s hands,” she replies, her face hardening. “But your queen’s destiny is in mine. I am running out of patience, and she is running out of time. If she does not fulfill her purpose and soon, I will see to it that she wishes she was never born. Losing her family and her garden are not the worst things that can happen to the girl.” Her smile slips back onto her face as if it had never left. “Speaking of,” she says, her eyes unfocusing as if looking inward. “I believe she is about to wake. Which is more important to you, I wonder: being there for her or taking revenge for her?”

 

He is still seething when he returns to Sarah’s chamber. She’s restless, but not quite awake yet. He slips in beside her, still fully dressed, and she curls into him automatically and stills. He wraps his arms around her and stares at the ceiling, thinking about what Elga said.

They had asked for so little and been denied, and he can’t think of any reason why Elga would hold out on them. She wants a job done, but refuses to say what the job is. Why?

Elga is a nasty piece of work, no question. He had always assumed it was because of her strained relationship with her husband, but what did Warrin have to do with Sarah? Elga had kept Sarah from Warrin’s grasp; she must have had a reason. 

Theirs was a well-known love story and terribly romantic by all accounts. Lovers from two different planes, brought together by fate. They were star-crossed, doomed to failure, but had somehow managed to stay together despite all odds. But the lengths they had gone to ensure they were never separated had backfired. The source of their success became the cause of their tragedy: they had given themselves to each other. As their relationship ebbed, they did not part amicably, choosing instead to punish each other until they were both locked inside their palatial home, trapped in a prison of their own making. If they kept this up, soon neither of them would be able to move or speak.

And that’s when it strikes him.

Elga will not tell them what she needs because she _can’t_. Warrin has cut her ability to communicate what she wants, something she has already told Sarah and that Sarah cannot remember.

Now _this_ he can work with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story.
> 
> Acknowledgments:  
> In addition to _Labyrinth_ , this work is inspired by the Gary Jules cover of the song "Mad World" by Tears for Fears, Challenge #26: By the Pier in the Livejournal Labyfic Community, and by my friend M. who will probably not read this, but should be acknowledged nonetheless.
> 
> _Nodus tollens_ is a term from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. 
> 
> I’d like to once again extend my sincere gratitude to Aurora Kemanche and Exulansis for their work beta-reading this story. This story is so much bigger and better because of their suggestions and feedback.
> 
> _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


	15. Evaporated

There is no moment of blissful ignorance when she wakes the next morning, the pain of the previous day still burning hot in her head. She has no more tears to cry, but exhaustion continues to take its toll, weighing her eyelids down.

She is pressed against Jareth, his arms curled protectively around her, and though her heart is broken, she feels secure, her gratitude at his presence intense. Throughout her ordeal, he has, of his own free will, guided and protected her. And he is here now, helping her process the pain of her loss. 

She hasn’t forgotten their argument before her disastrous return Above, and her face burns with shame and embarrassment. She’d made a bargain with the case worker, brought that horrible woman Underground and watched dispassionately as she’d turned into a goblin. It hadn’t occurred to her that Jareth would not want the woman in his kingdom and Sarah hadn’t thought to ask.

And yet, despite her actions, her harsh words and accusations, he’s still here with her. She tucks her head against his chest, breathing in his scent. His arms tighten around her, and she realizes he’s awake.

When she dares meet his eyes, he is gazing back at her, a look of concern on his face.

“We can stay here today,” he says, his voice soft. “All day, if you like.”

His kindness overwhelms her, makes her want to run away. She won’t run, of course; where would she go? But she doesn’t feel worthy of his kindness while their argument lingers between them. She settles instead for sitting up, pulling herself away from him. She tucks her legs against her, wrapping her arms around them. 

“I’m sorry,” she says.

He sits up as well, but doesn’t touch her, understanding that she couldn’t bear it if he did.

“About that girl’s mother,” she continues. “I shouldn’t have brought her here.”

“What’s done is done,” he says, and she senses he’s trying to dismiss it, trying to give her an out.

“What’s done is done,” she agrees with a nod, taking what he offers. She meets his eyes, her expression serious. “It won’t happen again.” This is her promise to him. She had lost sight of her goal, but she won’t forget again. The Labyrinth will be a refuge for the lost, the lonely, the heartbroken, and the hurting. It will not be a prison, and she will not be judge, jury, and executioner. Never again.

“What do you want to do, Sarah?”

She stares at the silk sheets on the bed, her mind spinning. “I don’t know,” she says, finally. “I don’t know what to do.” Her voice breaks, tears threatening once more. She swallows the lump in her throat, unwilling to break down again.

“They’re gone,” she whispers. “I was too late.” Her mind whirls, sorting through maybes and might-have-beens. In all her years Underground, her fantasy of returning hadn’t changed. She’d imagined a tearful reunion with her father, step-mother, and kid brother, even after it had become clear that time was passing more quickly than she thought. She’d deliberately blinded herself from the reality of her situation, unwilling to give up on that dream. 

“If I hadn’t been late, though…,” she thinks out loud. “If they’d still been alive when I made it back..? What then? I introduce you to them and we visit for Thanksgiving and Christmas? We stay as we are and watch them grow old and pass on?

“All those plans,” she muses, more to herself than to Jareth. “Go to college, have a career, meet a boy and have two-point-five kids...” 

His eyebrows raise at the last. She ignores his confusion. That life, the one she’d expected when she’d left home that sunny, August morning, feels so alien to her now.

“I’m not the same person who was taken from them.” She holds her hands in front of her, turning them to inspect both sides. “I look the same. I talk the same.” She wraps her hands around her legs again. “But I don’t feel the same.”

“You grew up,” Jareth interjects.

“Yes. I guess that’s part of it. But I’m not the same person I would have become if I’d never come here. If I’d never…” she stops, worried that Jareth might interpret her words as regret that she had ever met him. That ill-considered wish so long ago had brought him to her, and she could never regret that.

“No, it’s not just that I grew up. It’s that I outgrew that world. Or it outgrew me. Honestly, I’m not sure which. I just know that I’m different now.

“You knew, didn’t you?” It’s more a statement than a question. “You knew I wouldn’t make it. Right from the start.” She gives him a pained smile. “I’m not accusing you,” she reassures. “I knew, too.” She looks back at her knees. “I just couldn’t accept it. Something had been done to me - something unimaginably cruel - and I just wanted to get back. Nothing else mattered.

“But then there was you. And, oh, how I hated you at first.” She sees the pain in his eyes at her confession, but she needs to press on, the words leaving her mouth before they’re fully formed in her brain. “But there has been no one else in my life, here or Above, who has challenged me or supported me the way you have.

“Even if I had made it... If Dad, Karen, and Toby-” her voice cracks on her baby brother’s name, “-were still alive, I couldn’t have left you. You mean more to me than I can say.

“I love you, Jareth.” This time, the tears come and she can’t stop them. Elga’s words still ring in her ears. Sarah has no doubts that she will make good on her threats and steal her away to someplace truly awful. But if that happens, she will make sure that Jareth knows how she feels before she leaves, and she’ll at least have that small comfort.

“I just… I just wish I could have said goodbye. Told them how I feel. Or even-” she rolls her eyes to the ceiling, trying to stop the tears, “-spent more time with them in their dreams.” She’d been so worried about wasting time. The irony is agonizing.

“They knew, Sarah. I’m sure of it.” He produces a crystal on the tips of his fingers, and with a subtle twist of his hands, it becomes a letter. She recognizes her father’s neat handwriting and can’t help the small gasp that escapes her.

She gingerly takes the white envelope from Jareth. “Where did you get this?”

“You’re right,” he admits. “I knew.” Sarah nods, then ducks her head, not wanting him to see her expression. “But I had hoped you would make it. And that hope gave me cause to check on them. Once in awhile. When I last visited, they were no longer living in the house. They left this behind.”

She peeks into the envelope and sees a photograph tucked inside along with a sheet of paper. It is a family photo taken when they had visited the Grand Canyon two years before her transformation. Her family’s faces, grown fuzzy in her memory, come back to her with sharp clarity. She had forgotten about Karen’s affection for heavy eyeliner and how the shape of her father’s eyes always made him look worried. She would have expected to shed tears over seeing their faces after so long, but instead feels only the warmth of familiarity. She sets the photograph to the side and pulls the sheet of paper from the envelope.

She breathes in, hoping to catch the scent of her father’s cologne, but there is nothing but the smell of paper and ink. She unfolds the letter and reads.  
_  
Dear Sarah,_

_My counselor told me not to write this. She said it’s pointless to write a letter to someone who will never read it. But I can’t go without leaving some kind of explanation for you, just to put my mind at ease while we’re gone. Just in case..._

_I’ve accepted a position in London. The company has been good to me over the years, and when they offered this position, I felt it was time to repay their kindness. Setting up a new office in another country seems like a good way to do that._

_Toby will be off to college before we leave, but we’ll keep the house. I can’t let go of the idea that this place is important. Maybe we’re meant to return someday. Maybe Toby will want to raise a family here. Or maybe you’ll come back and this will be where you’ll expect to find us._

_The police and my counselor are convinced that you’re not coming back, and I think I’m getting to the point where I can accept that you won’t. But they think you’re dead, and I know that’s not true._

_You are alive. And while you live, I have hope that I will see you again._

_Karen believes me now. She didn’t for a long time. She never said anything, never tried to convince me that you were truly gone, but I could see it in her eyes when I talked about you. She’s a practical woman, but she isn’t blind to what happened that night when you visited us all in our dreams._

_Sarah, you saved us that night. We were falling apart, and then you came and put things right. I’ll always carry regrets with me, but none greater than knowing I can never thank you for that. But if this letter reaches you somehow, know how grateful I am. How grateful we all are._

_I knew the moment you were born that you were destined for great things. I suppose every parent thinks that about their children. But as you grew, I could see your spirit and your desire to make things right and good, and I knew you would make your mark in the world. I like to think that’s exactly what you’re doing wherever you are: leaving your mark. It’s how I will always think of you._

_I love you. Forever._  
_Dad_  
  
She clutches the letter to her chest, as if holding it close will help her keep her father’s words with her forever. She will never know exactly what happened to them, if they had lived happy lives, but she takes comfort in the knowledge that they were able to heal and move on. It’s the best she can hope for, and it is time for her to do the same.

“Thank you for saving these for me,” she says to Jareth. “And for making sure they were ok.”

For a fraction of a second, his eyebrows pull together in consternation; she’d forgotten how being thanked makes him uncomfortable. But then the corners of his mouth lift and he gives her a small nod. 

“What happened at the Soirée yesterday?” he says, changing the subject. 

Sarah gathers the letter and photograph and holds them in her lap. “I asked Elga why she took me. What the point of all of it was. She didn’t answer. She never does. She just tells me that I have a job to do and that I need to figure it out.” She runs her finger over her father’s handwriting, feeling the hopelessness of the situation weighing on her, crushing her.

When Jareth doesn’t respond, she looks up to find him staring hard at her armoire. She looks over at the intricately carved piece of furniture. It looks normal to her, empty except for the dictionary just visible through the filigree carving. After several long moments, he stands from the bed and quickly crosses the room. Opening the door, he reaches in and pulls out the book, his expression serious and contemplative.

“We haven’t been paying attention,” he says, flipping through the book.

“What do you mean?” Sarah asks as she stands to join him, laying the letter and photo on her side table. 

“This isn’t mine.”

She shrugs. “So? Maybe one of your subjects brought it in.”

“This is from Above.” He shakes his head. He thumbs through a few more pages. “You found this in the castle?”

“Yeah, two floors down.”

“Show me.”

She has a moment of _déja vu_ before remembering they’d already had this conversation, long before she finished her lure. She’d distracted him and then they’d forgotten all about the book. 

She nods and concentrates her magic on transporting them directly to the study below.

Nothing happens. 

She looks at Jareth, concern and confusion warring for dominance across her features, then walks quickly to the door to her chamber, out into the corridor, and down the stairs. Jareth follows, easily matching her speed.

She reaches the correct floor in less than a minute and opens the last door on the right. Inside is a small, dusty office containing a single rough table and chair. Sarah steps inside, her eyes disbelieving. 

“This isn’t right,” she says, quickly leaving the room and opening every chamber in the hallway. There is no bright, clean study to be found. “It’s gone,” she says, breathless.

“What’s gone?” Jareth asks.

“The study where I found the book. It didn’t look like any of these.”

“Are you certain it was on this floor?”

“I’m certain,” she says firmly. “Have you redecorated? Rearranged any rooms?”

“No.”

“Is there anyone else besides you and me that can do that?”

“No,” he says, then his eyes widen. “Yes.”

“Who?”

“Warrin,” he replies. He hesitates before adding, “And Elga.”

They are back in the bedchamber in the blink of an eye, standing at Sarah’s table, looking at the dictionary as if it poses some new and serious danger.

“Which of them sent it?” Sarah asks.

“Elga,” Jareth replies.

“How do you know?”

“She said something about us discussing literature.”

“Us?” Sarah asks, gesturing between herself and Jareth, “Or the two of you?”

“You and me,” he replies quickly.

“When was this?”

“Last night.”

“When did you…?” 

“She threatened you, didn’t she?” he asks quickly. 

Sarah looks at him again. He’s dressed in his black armor, was laying next to her in bed with it on, though she distinctly remembers crying into his bare chest before she’d fallen asleep. She puts it together quickly: he’d left and confronted Elga. She’s not sure what good that would have done, and can only be grateful that he’s back with her now.

She nods in response to his question.

“What did she say?”

“She said she’d take me out of the Labyrinth. Put me somewhere else Underground where you could never find me,” Sarah says softly.

“Unless?” Jareth prompts her.

“Unless I finish my task. But Jareth,” she quickly adds, “I don’t know what she wants!” 

“It’s a clue,” he says, nodding to the book. “She can’t tell you what she needs; she’s trying to give you hints. Was there anything else? Did she say anything else to you?”

“Nothing new,” Sarah sighs. “She still claims she saved me from Warrin, but she’s really angry I haven’t figured out what she wants yet. Jareth, I think she might actually do it. I think she might steal me away again, put me someplace else.” She doesn’t think she could take the heartbreak of losing Jareth on top of everything else.

“Jareth,” she says as the idea forms in her head. “What if I gave you my name? My real one?”

Jareth turns to face her, his eyes narrowing.

“You’d be able to find me!” It’s such a simple solution, she wonders how she didn’t think of it earlier. If there is anyone she can trust with her name, it’s Jareth.

“No,” he says, firmly.

“But if Elga…”

“No,” he says again. 

“If you knew it, you could…”

“Make you do anything I like,” he finishes for her. “Control you for eternity. Hold you under my thumb exactly the way Elga holds you now. Is that what you want?" 

"But you wouldn't do that," she argues. 

"A young woman, hardly more than a girl, once stood before the King of the Goblins and declared he had no power over her. Where did that young woman go, Sarah?”

“I trust you,” she says, almost defiantly.

He steps closer to her, stroking her face with his leather-clad hand. “The same way Elga trusted Warrin. The same way he trusted her.” His eyes are gentle as he finishes, “Once upon a time, they were us.”

Sarah wrinkles her nose in distaste. “We would never be like them.”

“That’s what everyone thinks when a romance is new. That it will last forever. That it will always be perfect. No one can promise that.”

“What if there’s no other way for us to stay together?”

“There is always another way. We’ll find it.”

Sarah crosses her arms across her chest and looks at her feet, unconvinced, but unwilling to argue.

“I’d like to try something,” he says.

Sarah looks back up at him, her gaze questioning.

“You trust me enough to give me your name. Do you trust me enough to allow me into your dreams?” 

“Yes,” she answers hesitantly. Of course she does, but she wonders what he has in mind to make him ask.

He sits on the bed, his back resting against the headboard, legs crossed beneath him.

“Lie down,” he says. 

She does as he instructs, laying her head in his lap. He removes his gloves and runs his fingers through her hair. She closes her eyes, and though the exhaustion she’d felt upon waking continues pressing on her, she’s not quite sure how he expects her to fall asleep.

“Aren’t _you_ supposed to be sleeping for this?” she asks.

“That won’t be an issue,” he assures her, but doesn’t explain himself.

She huffs, suppressing slight annoyance that after all this time, his magical skills still surpass her own. She wonders if she’ll ever match him.

“I want you to think back now on that last day Above,” he says before reciting a list of questions. “What happened? Who did you meet? Who did you talk to? Who talked to you? What did they say?” He slowly repeats the questions again and again in his deep, hypnotic voice, and before long, she begins to drift.

She watches herself from above, recognizing the little orange car as it speeds along the winding mountain road.

_What happened?_

There’s an accident. The car sits empty against the guardrail. The people stare and begin to approach, but they scare her and she runs. She keeps running until the predators catch her. They take her down and she is powerless to stop them as they tear into her flesh. 

_Who did you meet?_

She meets no one. Not really. She works with others of her kind toward a common goal, but there is only the work and the journey. She crawls upward. So, so high.

_Who did you talk to?_

She isn’t here for conversation; she is here to provide. There is only the feel of the wind in her boughs and the knowledge that she protects those who dwell in her branches.

_Who talked to you?_

Talking comes later. For now, her kind avoid her, allowing her to invade their territory as if she is entitled to it. She is a solitary creature, needing no one. And no one needs her. She is alone, but she is not lonely. She is capable and independent.

_What happened?_

She should be exhausted from her trek up the stream; it is such a very long way. But she feels no hunger and no fatigue. She just keeps going, knowing that her goal is all that matters.

_Who did you meet?_

A fisherman. She can see him now. He’s old, with tattered clothing and a fraying straw hat. He recognizes her. He knows who she is. He leans down to talk to her, and she can see he’s missing most of his teeth.

_Who did you talk to?_

She can’t talk. She’s suffocating. She’s beautiful, she realizes as she watches from above, her skin silver and pink and speckled with black. But she’s out of her element, gasping for breath in the net of the fisherman. He’s cruel to allow her to die like that and then leave her trapped inside her mortal form while her remains are cooked.

“What did he say?”

She is startled to realize that Jareth is standing next to her, speaking to her. He looks shaken, and she remembers that he had gone through this, too. She wonders if it’s the first time he’s watched from this vantage point.

“He said he recognized me,” Sarah says. The words hurt her as she says them. He knew who she was, who she was going to be, and he’d allowed her to die.

When she looks back at her former self, the room has changed. She’s now in a large dining room, set before Elga. Her body lies on a plate without embellishment or garnish, her skin charred by the heat of the fire, its natural beauty destroyed. The dark-haired woman leans close to her and whispers so quietly that neither Jareth nor Sarah can quite hear her.

“What is she saying?” Jareth asks.

Sarah remembers the words and recites them. “‘You make a poor Salmon of Wisdom, but I have high hopes for your future,’” she quotes. She keeps her eyes focused on the dark-haired woman at the table. Elga is renaming her, she knows, affixing the collar and leash that will allow Elga to control her for the rest of her existence. She does not repeat those words, skipping them before continuing, “You hold the key to releasing us. Only you will have the knowledge to stop…”

And just as it had happened the first time, there is a crash. Only this time, Sarah can see what caused the clatter: the door has flown open and hit the wall. Warrin rushes into the room, his face twisted in rage, so red that it is almost purple. Elga’s mouth opens unnaturally wide as she lifts Sarah’s salmon-self by the tail and drops her whole into her mouth. 

Sarah cringes and looks away.

“Stop what, Sarah? What does she want you to stop?”

The dream becomes fuzzy around the edges, beginning to fall apart.

“I don’t know! Roaring? It doesn’t make sense!”

“You’re waking up, Sarah. Don’t mention this dream, don’t talk about it! It isn’t safe for anyone to overhear…”

His words cut off as the dream falls apart and Sarah wakes.

 

Waking from this dream feels far different than her first dreamwalk. She feels surprisingly well-rested and her memories are clear. She imagines Jareth must be nursing a severe hangover from walking through her dreams and is surprised when he rises from the bed. 

He magics himself into clean clothing, and she knows by the formal style of his shirt and jacket that he is going to the Soirée. “What are you doing?” she asks, uneasy about the idea of him confronting Elga again.

“Warrin knows what she wants.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sarah says.

“Not this time.” She can see the exhaustion in his eyes. He’s pretending to be unaffected by the magical expenditure of dreamwalking, but she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him so tired. “Warrin knows, but he has ensured Elga cannot tell you. I want to know why, and he will not speak if you are with me.”

“What makes you think he’ll tell you?”

“He clearly doesn’t want Elga to reach her goal. If we can help him stop her, he may be able to stop Elga from removing you from the Labyrinth.”

Though she is uncomfortable with the idea of him going to Warrin to speak about her and Elga, she trusts that he knows what he’s doing. She sits back on the bed and allows him to bend and kiss her before he fades from the room.

She looks at the photograph on the side table, her last connection to her human life and those she had loved. It’s remarkably well-preserved and she wonders how Jareth managed to keep it protected all this time. She conjures a crystal over one hand and blows it gently to the photograph. When it pops, the photograph is framed and propped up on the bedside table. She bets with time and practice she could create an oil painting from the image so she never has to forget them again, even if the photograph fades. 

Elga’s threat to take her from the Labyrinth worries her. She’s lost so much; she doesn’t think she can bear to lose Jareth as well. Warrin might know what Elga wants, but Sarah doubts that he’ll tell Jareth. And anyway, she’s not convinced that she wants Warrin’s help. Elga might not have Sarah’s best interests at heart, but she’s sure Warrin doesn’t, either. She’s got to come up with another plan. 

Elga has been so insistent that Sarah knows what she needs to do. She just needs to put the pieces together. She rises from the bed, and walks to the table that holds the English and Gaelic dictionary. She sits at her chair and begins to flip through the book’s pages. If the book really is from Elga, the answers must be inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story.
> 
> Acknowledgments:  
> In addition to _Labyrinth_ , this work is inspired by the Gary Jules cover of the song "Mad World" by Tears for Fears, Challenge #26: By the Pier in the Livejournal Labyfic Community, and by my friend M. who will probably not read this, but should be acknowledged nonetheless.
> 
> This chapter is titled after the Ben Folds Five song "Evaporated."
> 
> This story has been beta'd by Aurora Kemanche and Exulansis. I really couldn't have done this without them.
> 
> _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


	16. Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Mentions of child abuse and forced impregnation

“You certainly have a way of livening up parties, my love,” Warrin says, when Jareth transports directly into the sitting room next to the ballroom. Warrin has been waiting and Jareth knows he is already well aware of his confrontation with Elga.

“You do love a good show,” Jareth replies without humor.

“Indeed. Tell me, dear boy, what did you hope to gain?” Warrin temples his fingers under his chin, showing deep interest in Jareth’s response.

“Information. Elga wants something, but refuses to say exactly what it is. She has threatened to remove Sarah from the Labyrinth if she fails in Elga’s task.”

Warrin’s eyes widen. “You came here on Sarah’s behalf, then?” 

“I cannot allow Elga to threaten my queen.”

“You’re in love,” Warrin says, and it sounds like an accusation.

Jareth pauses. If he could lie to Warrin, he would. Warrin shows interest only in things that will entertain him, and admitting his attachment to Sarah might only put her in greater danger. 

“Why do you hide your feelings, my boy? It is tremendous news to love your queen!” Warrin leans forward in his chair, his face eager and interested. “Tell me, does she love you back?” 

“What do you know of Elga’s plans?” Jareth asks, ignoring Warrin’s questions. He did not come to discuss his relationship.

“Elga’s plans? My dearest child, who can say? The ways of women are mysterious,” he says, the interest leaving his expression as he sits back in his seat.

Jareth notices the way Warrin has side-stepped his question and wonders if it is intentional or if Elga has gagged him in the same way he gagged her. 

“What Elga wants.. you do not want her to have,” Jareth says, speaking slowly, cautiously.

Warrin’s eyes narrow slightly.

“We could help you, Sarah and I-” Jareth pauses, gauging Warrin’s reaction.

“Yes, my boy. I dare say you could.” 

He continues, “-in exchange for Sarah’s continued ability to come and go from the Labyrinth of her own free will, whenever she chooses, as often as she chooses.”

Warrin stands from his chair and paces the room. “That is easily done, my love. So easily done, in fact, that I would ask only a little thing in return. Something I know will be very easy for you to obtain.”

“What is it you need?” Jareth asks.

Warrin stops his pacing and faces Jareth, his hands clasped behind his back. “Your queen’s true name.”

Jareth doesn’t balk or even pause. His response is simple and automatic. “That is not mine to give.”

“And yet, it could be. She has offered, has she not?”

Warrin has been watching them in the Labyrinth. Jareth is unsurprised, but wonders how much he has seen.

“Oh, my love, when did you become so sentimental? She offered you power and asked nothing in return. What on earth possessed you to refuse?”

Jareth falls silent: it is his only option when Warrin has asked him a question that he cannot or will not answer.

“It’s all right, my boy. I know why you refused,” Warrin says as he begins to pace once more. “You see the love between my wife and myself as a cautionary tale. You think if you refuse to properly bind yourself to your queen that you can avoid your relationship mirroring mine, but you fail to realize that love cannot last. Eventually, all that is left is power. And when the day comes that your love turns to hate, who will have the upper hand? 

“You made a mistake refusing to take your lover’s name, Jareth. I suggest you go back to her and accept her generous offer. Give her name to me and I will ensure she never leaves you.”

“That is not what I wish.” Jareth has lived Underground long enough to know when a bargain is being twisted. 

“I know you, Jareth. I know you better than you know yourself. The taste of that power is what you’ve craved since the day your brother stole your woman and threw you out of your home.”

Jareth doesn’t flinch, thoughts of Gerald and Osanna no longer the open wounds they once were.

“You’ve given the girl an advantage over you, my love. I’ve watched you moon over her, letting her run roughshod over you and your kingdom. Your feelings have made you weak. Soft. But it is not too late. Tell the girl I refused to help you, and that her plan is the only chance you have to remain together.”

Jareth ignores the insult, larger worries taking priority. Warrin could help, but his price is too high. Jareth will not pay it, and will not allow Sarah to pay it, either. He has flouted Warrin’s directives in the past and paid dearly for it. He braces himself, knowing he will not like Warrin’s reaction. “I will not.”

“I could make you do it, my love.” It’s a threat and a warning.

“You could,” Jareth replies calmly. “But why? What is Sarah to you that you must control her?”

Warrin doesn’t answer, and Jareth can feel him sizing him up.

“If you will not help, we will find another way,” Jareth says. They still have Elga’s clues. There is hope. He focuses his magic to transport back to the castle, but finds himself unable to move. 

“Oh, my dearest boy, there is far more at stake here than your bed-warmer.” Magic begins to coalesce around them as they stand opposing one another in the room. “I’m not quite ready for this to end, you see.” 

As he finishes speaking, the two vanish from the room.

 

Sarah sits back in her chair and glares at the dictionary open in front of her. It is just a dictionary. There is nothing special about it. Nothing interesting. There is no plot, no lesson or moral to learn. No hints or clues that will tell her what Elga wants her to do. She pushes it to the side and conjures some fresh paper and ink, intent on writing down every clue she can think of. 

She begins by writing down her experiences during her transformation. She writes down every animal, every interaction, every feeling she had. She ends by writing down what Elga had said to her, everything except her new name. _Only you can stop…?_

It’s a dead-end. If Warrin hadn’t crashed in at that moment, she could have heard what Elga was trying to tell her. 

She thinks of Warrin, red-faced and angry. Elga had foiled his plans to claim Sarah for himself and she wonders what life might have been like if Elga had failed. Elga hadn’t used her as a pawn the way Jareth had once feared. In fact, she hadn’t really interfered with Sarah at all.

She tries to remember the conversations she’s had with the woman since her arrival.

She remembers Elga stating emphatically that she would have chosen anyone else over Sarah, which seems to indicate that this is a job anyone can do. She was also dismissive of Sarah’s intelligence, which means that it shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out. Sarah tries to stifle her irritation at the thought. It’s a strange sort of cognitive dissonance to want to defy Elga and still be thought of by her as intelligent and capable.

_You are here because of Jareth’s interest in you._

She had said Warrin had hoped to bring her Underground for Jareth. To bear him children.

She has to admit that the idea of having a family with Jareth doesn’t seem so outrageous anymore. But the way it had happened… it sets her teeth on edge. The realization that the people responsible for this, for her being here, had never taken her own plans and priorities into consideration is beyond infuriating.

But why would Warrin want Jareth to have children? Jareth had never expressed any particularly warm feelings for the man. Might Warrin consider Jareth a son?

She writes down the idea.

She wonders if maybe Elga considers him a son as well, but quickly rejects the idea. They’d had an intimate relationship, and she can’t reconcile the idea that she’d look at him as a son as well as a lover. Perhaps Elga had just hoped for Jareth to have a family with someone other than Sarah. The idea hurts more than she would have expected. But would Elga have doomed Jareth to a childless existence just to keep him from having children with someone she didn’t find suitable?

Yes, she would. Sarah writes it down.

Perhaps Warrin is looking to build a family. His relationship with Elga had not worked out, and as far as Sarah knows, it had never resulted in children. She can’t help but feel a smug sense of relief at the thought. She wonders how long their relationship had lasted before it went sour. Had they tried for children and been unsuccessful? It might explain why Elga was so adamant that Sarah would bear no children. At least, not while Elga was still alive.

Warrin wanted her to have children. Elga will not allow it. 

She writes that down.

Her thoughts turn to the relationship between Warrin and Elga. The woman now had nothing but disdain for her red-headed partner, but she had talked about their early days with a sense of heavy regret. She thought she’d be in love forever.

She thinks back on Jareth’s earlier words. Once upon a time, Warrin and Elga had been just like Jareth and Sarah. She tries to think of herself acting towards Jareth the way Elga acts towards Warrin, and the thought makes her feel ill. They’d come so far, from adversaries, to friends, to lovers. But Warrin and Elga make her wonder if there really is such a thing as “happily ever after.”

Perhaps the answer lies in the relationship between the Fae couple. Sarah turns her paper over and begins writing down everything Elga had said about Warrin.

He lies, she remembers. Elga had said that Warrin would only lie.

She writes down the word “liar.”

She also remembers how Warrin had tried to get her new name from her, as if she would be so naive as to hand it over. The thought of both Warrin and Elga having control over her sends shivers down her back.

She writes down “manipulative.”

She thinks about the power that Warrin holds over Jareth. She’d thought Warrin was a king at first, and Elga had been wishy-washy in her response. _Some may call him such._ Warrin had no kingdom to rule. Although, wasn’t that what he’d been doing with Jareth all these years? Jareth had been king in name, and he had built his kingdom with his own two hands, but Warrin holds power over Jareth.

Sarah writes down the word “king.”

But Elga had said something else, too. She’d said “red king,” obviously a reference to Warrin’s hair, ruddy complexion, or even the color of his clothes. Sarah wonders if it was said as an insult, but Warrin had other physical imperfections that were more ripe for mockery than his innocuous red hair and face. She could have gone with “elf king,” or “little king,” or anything poking fun at his diminutive size. But she hadn’t, which indicates that either she is especially bothered by the color of his hair, or she wasn’t trying to insult him. While it’s possible Warrin didn’t have the red hair when he and Elga were young and in love, it’s most likely that he did and that Elga liked it just fine.

Sarah writes down the word “red” and reads back through her notes. 

Nothing. 

Frustrated, she sighs and sits back in her chair.

When she stops focusing on the page, she realizes she has created a list of words. Words that would likely be in the dictionary.

Cautiously, she pulls the book back toward herself and begins looking up each keyword and writing the Gaelic translation. 

Doe = _Earb_  
Ant = _Seangan_  
Tree = _Craobh_

She gets hung up here for a moment; there are so many different kinds of tree. She reads through the translations and finally adds _dharaich_ , for Oak. The dictionary won’t allow her to get more specific than that.

The dictionary also doesn’t have an entry for “osprey.” Rather, it has one for “ospray.” Unsure if it’s the same word, she writes the translation anyway.

Osprey = _Iolair uisgre_  
Salmon = _Bradan_

But Jareth… what about him? And what about his relationship with Warrin?

Son = _Osunn_  
Family = _Teaghlach_  
Children = _Leanabh_

And Warrin himself?

Liar = _Breugair_  
King = _Rí_  
Red = _Rua_

She can’t find translations for “forever” or “manipulative,” but she’s not sure it matters. She could study these words, memorize their spellings and definitions, but she can’t pronounce them. The unfamiliar compound letters only serve to puzzle her.

Dejected, she can’t help but feel as if Elga was right about her. She feels stupid.

She squints at the page and realizes that it’s getting too dark in the room to see. She’s been sitting here for hours, working. She has only a moment to wonder what is taking Jareth so long when she is disturbed by a loud, insistent call in her head.

Someone has made a wish.

Sarah looks down at herself and curses. Her dress is at the Soirée, and even if Elga had sent it back to the Labyrinth, she’s not sure she could stand to wear it again. Thinking fast, she creates a crystal and lets it drop to the ground. It shatters just as the magic takes hold and pulls her Above.

 

Moments later, Sarah finds herself in a small, cluttered bedroom, and feels an immediate sense of nostalgia. The pictures on the wall and the toys scattered around all look like items she would have had in her own room. A well-worn copy of _The Labyrinth_ , far thicker than the copy Sarah had had as a child, lies on a side table, a bookmark resting halfway through its pages. Above the bed, letters that have been cut out of sticky plastic and attached to the wall spell out a name: Jenna.

In the center of the bed, looking eager and unbelieving, sits a young girl with long, dark hair and huge, brown eyes. Her eyes and mouth seem too large for her face, making her look somewhat awkward, though Sarah suspects that the girl will become a true beauty as she grows into her features. But for now, she looks roughly twelve or thirteen years old if Sarah had to guess. She matches the girl to the name “Jenna” and immediately feels the power, the knowledge and control, ripple through her. Thirteen years old, she knows for sure now. Thirteen and _thrilled_. Sarah lets the girl’s relief and excitement wash over her.

Sarah takes a quick look at herself and is relieved to see her magic had taken effect before she’d appeared in the girl’s room. She is clothed in a dress of royal blue silk. The skirt is still short, but the top covers far less that her red dress had. A halter fastened behind her neck drapes over her chest, just covering her breasts, but leaving her arms, back, and a large portion of her chest bare. In the crystal she had conjured to create the dress, she had imagined her pendant would be visible just above the drape of the neckline, but she remembers too late that her necklace, too, is at the Soirée with Elga.

“You’re her,” says the girl “You’re the Goblin Queen.” She sounds awed.

Sarah takes a quick look around herself. A handful of goblins have beaten her here. They sift unseen, but not unnoticed, through the girl’s things and a few have strayed out of the room to hide items left on tables and sour the milk in the fridge. A couple of the pictures on the girl’s dresser flicker and Sarah leans in to take a closer look. They’re electronic. Fascinating! But then the goblins get to them, and the images they show disappear, the screens going black, and Sarah wonders why anyone would switch from paper photographs.

However, there is no Goblin King to be seen. He should not have been able to resist the call, and even if he could, why would he?

She looks back at the girl, who slowly stands from the bed. “I’m ready to go,” she says.

“Go? Go where?” Sarah asks, more concerned about Jareth’s whereabouts than the girl’s wish.

“To the Castle Beyond the Goblin City,” Jenna says.

Sarah pauses. She’s not ready for this. She hasn’t figured out the magic to stop the transformation and she knows what will happen if she takes the girl Underground.

She tries to deny her, but her lips refuse to form the words. She can feel the magic begin to build around them, preparing to take them both Underground. Frantically, she tries to think of a way to satisfy the magic without giving Jenna over to it. As the magic pulls them both under, she adjusts their destination, and they appear on the outskirts of the Labyrinth just as the sun sinks below the horizon.

“This isn’t the castle,” Jenna says, confused.

“No, it isn’t,” Sarah replies. “There is no one to run for you, so you must run for yourself.” Sarah looks to the sky. It will be dark soon. That will make Jenna’s run far more difficult. She may need to get Hoggle to help the girl through.

“Run? Like the girl in the story?”

“Exactly like her. Only you’ll be running for your own life.”

“But I don’t want to go back! I want to stay in the Labyrinth!”

“Do you know what will happen if you stay?” Sarah asks, her face serious.

Jenna look at her hopefully. “I’ll become one of you?”

Sarah feels her stomach drop, her guilt eating her from the inside. “One of me?” she asks. “What, exactly, do you think I am?”

Jenna’s eyebrows furrow. “You’re Fae.”

 _She’s not wrong,_ Sarah thinks. But there’s that doubt in her, too, the same doubt that shows on Jareth’s face when the topic comes up, as if the label doesn’t quite fit. As if there’s a better descriptor. “Maybe,” she answers, finally. “But you won’t be like me.”

The girl begins to look doubtful, and Sarah realizes that she’s destroying the girl’s dream.

“Children who are wished away to the goblins become goblins,” Sarah says. “And that is what will happen to you if you don’t get to the castle within thirteen hours.”

“I can’t go back,” the girl says quietly and then looks at Sarah with defiant eyes. “I won’t go back.”

“No?” Sarah asks, incredulously. “What could be so bad, I wonder, that you’d give up your life to become an ugly little goblin.”

“You were supposed to be nice,” the girl says, turning from Sarah and wiping at her nose on her sleeve. “In the book, you were nice.”

“In the book, I could keep you from turning into a monster,” Sarah admits. “I can’t do that in real life. Not yet.”

“I don’t care,” Jenna says. “It’s better than going back.” She turns back to Sarah and pleads, “Please don’t send me back.”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t.”

The girl takes a deep, shuddering breath. “My mom… she got a new boyfriend, and sometimes… sometimes he convinces her to let him come into my room at night…”

Sarah’s stomach drops and nausea hits her hard. She doesn’t want to believe it. She searches Jenna’s aura for any signs of dishonesty and finds nothing. The girl is telling the truth. “Oh gods…,” she says under her breath, horrified. 

Jenna hears her and sees her chance. “You can’t send me back. _Please_ ,” she begs.

Sarah knows she can’t send her back, not to that horror. “Jenna, please… please consider at least trying. Give yourself some time to think…”

But it’s too late; the magic seems to know the girl will not run and that Sarah cannot return her, and it begins to take effect. The girl is already transforming, shrinking, becoming a tiny waif of a goblin. 

Sarah steps back, horrified and ashamed. Her actions have caused this. Jareth had warned her and she had stubbornly refused to listen, so confident that she could change the magic before anyone would be affected by it. She watches Jenna’s potential shrink along with her form, her intelligence and courage fading to practically nothing as her body finishes its transformation. 

She remembers Jareth asking if she was prepared to accept responsibility for the goblins she invites into the Labyrinth. She hadn’t answered, refusing to even consider that she would fail to change the magic, but she can’t abandon the new little one in the wastes outside the Labyrinth. She approaches it slowly, and leans down to pick it up. The goblin clutches at her arm, hugging Sarah tightly. She pats it on its back as if it were a tiny kitten, stroking its black hair with a calm that belies her roiling emotions. 

With a small amount of will, Sarah and the new goblin are back in the castle’s throne room. She releases the goblin into the throng and watches as it assimilates with ease into the group. 

Jareth would know what to say right now. But he hadn’t responded to the wish. She tries to sense him and knows immediately that he is not in the Labyrinth. He had gone to the Soirée and had never returned. She mentally kicks herself for allowing him to go on his own.

She watches the goblins for a moment, trying to make sense of the past two days. It’s too much. Her family is gone. Her world is gone. She can’t lose Jareth, too.

As she stands in the throne room, her dress begins to darken from royal blue to midnight to black. 

They won’t keep him, she promises herself. She’ll get him back.

 

When filled with revelers, the ballroom is a surreal place. But when empty, it’s terrifying. The music has stopped and the pearls and crystals dangling from the extinguished chandeliers no longer shine, making the place feel abandoned and derelict. The darkened room is strewn with the detritus of a party long past its expiration date. In the silence, Sarah can hear the padding of her feet on the marble floors until the click of shoes echoes through the room. It takes Sarah a moment to locate the source of the sound.

Elga is walking quickly toward her from the far side of the room. Sarah stops, forcing Elga to close the distance between them on her own. 

“You are out of time, Sarah. Are you ready?” Elga asks when she nears Sarah.

Sarah feels the ball of anxiety in her stomach grow. “Ready for _what?_ ” she exclaims. “I don’t even know what you want!”

“Everything hangs in the balance, Sarah. _Everything._ It’s up to you.”

“What have you done with Jareth?” Sarah asks. 

“Jareth is not what’s important right now,” Elga says.

Sarah narrows her eyes, glaring at the other woman. “Look, I know you and Warrin had a falling out, but that doesn’t mean that you can just…”

“Sarah,” Elga says, and though Sarah feels no involuntary compulsion to stop talking, she does anyway. “Release me.”

“I’m not holding you,” Sarah says, baffled.

 _“Release me,”_ Elga repeats. “We’ve trapped each other, he and I.” 

Relief floods Sarah’s body. She could release her, and easily. Happily. If she knew Elga’s name, she could simply cause her to cease to exist. “Ok,” she says slowly, cautiously. “What is your name?”

Elga growls with frustration. “If it were that easy, we could have ended this over two hundred years ago.”

 _Good gods! Two hundred years?_ Sarah’s mouth drops open in shock.

Elga continues, “He trapped me on this plane, so I trapped him in this house in the hopes that he would soon grow bored with this existence and let me go. But he is patient, he is resourceful, and he is cruel. You could stab me through the heart with cold iron and yet here I would remain.” She raises her right arm and in her hand is a long, iron blade. She offers the sword to Sarah. “Try it. At least it would be something new.”

Just then, it clicks for Sarah. _Elga is bored._ “How old are you?” she says in wonder. How old does a being of such massive power need to be to be utterly bored with _everything_?

“There are no words.” There is a deep sadness in her voice that Sarah could not have guessed Elga was capable of feeling. “There is a rhythm to life. A time to be born, and a time to die. I should have faded eons ago. I am _tired_ , Sarah. Help me.”

Sarah looks at the sword Elga holds out towards her. She reaches out, touching the back of Elga’s hand with light pressure to encourage her to lower the blade. “I’m sorry,” she says.

Elga’s expression sours. “Don’t you pity me. You’re in no position, _girl._ ” She spits the word as if it’s an insult. “You are exactly as trapped as I am. You think you were freed when you became Queen? You are an exhibit. You are a _display._ Do you know how entertained Warrin was as he watched you fruitlessly struggle for your freedom? Do you understand how joyful he was as he watched Jareth comfort you when you discovered you could never leave him?”

Sarah reels. “I thought you hated Warrin. You did this to me to make him happy?” 

Elga laughs, the sound harsh. “I have no desire to make him happy. If what I did gave him joy, it was purely coincidental. You think me cruel - perhaps I am - but there was something else that would have made him happier and I would not sit idly by and watch as it happened.”

Sarah can’t bring herself to ask what that would be, but knows that Elga will tell her anyway.

“Imagine coming to the Underground, shocked and bewildered, and immediately forced into the arms of someone you hate. Imagine having no choice but to take him into your body, and then to swell with his child. Imagine giving birth only to watch the babe transform into a monster at your breast. You and Jareth would hate each other and you would hate the child, and yet you would find yourself reliving that horror again and again for eternity. Warrin would have watched it all and he would have laughed.” 

Sarah mouth drops open in horror, as she makes sense of Elga’s words. Long ago, Jareth had accepted that the magic of the Labyrinth would force a human to turn into a goblin, but he never liked it. He saw it as the better of two bad situations. If what Elga says is true, Warrin had planned to see how Jareth would react to having his own children transformed into monsters. And if Warrin had control of both Jareth and Sarah, he could have forced her to become pregnant and give birth as many times as he wanted.

Elga steps closer and takes the liberty of placing her hand low on Sarah’s abdomen. “He would have done it, you know. _Your_ children, goblins within their first hours of life. And he would have done it for fun.”

“Because I solved the Labyrinth?” Sarah asks, her voice only a whisper.

“Because Jareth respected you, and what Warrin wants, more than anything, is for Jareth to finally break,” Elga explains. “The moment Jareth let you return home with your baby brother, you were marked. When you came of age, Warrin planned to bring you here and hand you to Jareth, and then…” the sentence fades away, but Sarah understands exactly what would have happened. “Be grateful I got to you first. Because of me, you have a chance. _I_ have a chance.”

“Jareth would never…” Sarah starts.

“Jareth wouldn’t have had a choice,” Elga interrupts. “He’s as much a victim as you are.”

“You should have told me all of this sooner. You wasted all of those years being stubborn and cruel...”

“You know things now and feel things now that you didn’t before,” Elga cuts her off. “I spared you from Warrin’s plan, but you might have negotiated with him, bargained your way home to your family. Would you have cared enough about Jareth to save him? To save whichever poor girl might have taken your place?”

Sarah has no answer for that. She’s just not sure. In the beginning, she would have given anything to go home.

“Do you love Jareth?” she asks Elga, wondering why she suddenly seems to care so much about Jareth’s fate.

“I don’t think I’m capable of loving anyone. Not anymore.” Her face is expressionless, and Sarah doesn’t know whether or not to believe her. Or even whether it matters.

“I have to stop Warrin,” Sarah says, hoping that saying the words aloud will make her believe she has the capability. She can’t even match Jareth’s power; how is she supposed to defeat someone even more powerful?

“Yes,” Elga nods.

“How?”

“Think, Sarah. What will give you power over him?” They’ve had this conversation before and Sarah feels the frustration grow anew.

“I don’t know his name,” Sarah growls.

 _“You do,”_ Elga growls back.

Sarah simply stares at Elga, unable to understand why Elga won’t believe her.

“Where’s Jareth?” she asks, already knowing, but fearing the answer.

“Where do you think?” Elga responds. “Warrin doesn’t know your name, so he found another way to exert power over you. He knows you’re close. You’re a threat.”

“But I don’t know anything!” Sarah shouts, desperate.

“You know everything you need to know. Put it together.”

Sarah thinks back to her notes.

“Defeat the Red King. Only then will you and Jareth truly be free,” Elga says, and then her face softens. “You can do this, Sarah. You know it.”

Swallowing her fear and doubt, Sarah turns to the far end of the ballroom and prepares herself for this showdown with Warrin. He has taken her family. He has taken her world. He will not take Jareth.

“Give me my necklace,” Sarah says.

Elga holds out her hand and the pendant appears on her palm. Sarah lifts the silver chain, noticing that Elga has repaired the break, and places it over her head, allowing it to rest against the bare skin of her chest. 

Sarah catches a glimpse of herself in a nearby mirror, and though she almost doesn't recognize herself, she can still see the girl she'd once been. She doesn’t look like a character in a fairytale. She looks like a woman in a black dress. Nothing more. 

But she is Sarah Williams, Goblin Queen. She stands straight, pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin. She is everything she needs to be - everything she is _supposed_ to be. Nothing less.

She turns away from the mirror and looks at Elga. Her understanding of the woman has grown, but Elga doesn’t want Sarah’s pity and Sarah will not offer it. “I don’t like you,” she says.

“Do your job, then, and never see me again.”

Sarah nods, then turns and walks to the door on the far side of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story.
> 
> Acknowledgments:  
> In addition to _Labyrinth,_ this work is inspired by the Gary Jules cover of the song "Mad World" by Tears for Fears, Challenge #26: By the Pier in the Livejournal Labyfic Community, and by my friend M. who will probably not read this, but should be acknowledged nonetheless.
> 
> Most of the Irish translations were taken from _A New and Copious Vocabulary in Two Parts: The First Part Consisting of English and Gaelic; The Second, of Gaelic and English; With a few Directions for reading the Gaelic, Both with the Different Parts of Speech, and in Alphabetical Order_ by Br P. MacFarlane, 1815. Best. Title. Ever. The rest were translated by a friend of mine from Donegal. (Thanks D!)
> 
> “A time to be born, and a time to die,” is from Ecclesiastes 3:2. I hadn’t intended to quote the Bible, but that verse can’t actually be improved upon, so a quote it is.
> 
> This story has been beta'd by Aurora Kemanche and Exulansis. I’d like to extend an extra-special thank you to Exulansis for beta-ing this chapter _twice!_ Once for the second draft and again when I rewrote a couple of scenes. Thank you for being patient with me, E!  
>  _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


	17. Dead Reckoning

The corridor beyond the ballroom is pristine. White columns line the walls and the hard, marble floor is softened by a narrow red carpet, a golden motif woven into the lush pile. Sarah’s bare feet make no sound as they sink into the runner, and she finds the silence of the long hallway unnerving. Clearly, no party guests had been allowed this far into the building. She wonders how long it has been since another person last walked these halls.

She can see the stairway long before she reaches it, the light from the large hall below streaming into the corridor. Standing at the top of the staircase for a minute, she tries to decide between continuing her exploration of the corridor or going down the stairs. But she feels drawn to the grand hall, and begins her descent. The staircase widens as it nears the bottom, spilling out into the huge space. The plush carpet ends on the last step and Sarah steps onto the cold marble, investigating her surroundings, looking for a new path. 

The hall is undecorated, allowing Sarah to see there are only two options: an enormous wooden door to her left and another, identical, to her right. One room is silent, but she can hear the sound of silverware clinking on plates from the other. She begins to walk cautiously in that direction.

Though the door is open, she can’t see inside until she stands in the doorway. She freezes when she recognizes her surroundings. It’s the dining room she’d seen in her dream. The room is dominated by a long dining table, the vast majority of it unused, though it could easily sit fifty people. Warrin sits in the same seat Elga had used when she’d completed Sarah’s transformation, a modest amount of food set before him. She can’t help her morbid curiosity as she studies his meal for any signs that it might be another person in the process of being transformed into whatever it is she and Jareth are now.

“Welcome, my dear!” he says warmly as she looks around the room. “Come in! Come in! Please, have a seat!” He gestures to a chair on his right before cutting off a bite of meat and lifting his fork to his mouth. Sarah cringes as he chews, his eyes large and expectant, waiting for her to join him.

She hesitates in the doorway, scanning the room for any sign of Jareth. She had expected him to be with Warrin.

He smirks at her. “No need to be shy, darling. Sit!”

Sarah takes another look over her shoulder at the door across the hallway. It stands open, but she cannot see what is inside. She enters the dining room, taking her time on the long walk to the head of the table on the far side. In the quiet, she can hear the padding of her feet on the floor, and tries to lighten her step to minimize the sound.

“Sit!” he says again, his impatience at odds with his show of hospitality.

Sarah pulls out the chair and sits. There is no place setting for her, and not enough food to share anyway, but she feels more relieved than slighted; she has no appetite.

“There we are!” Warrin exclaims, his movements quick and jerky as he cuts into his food and takes another bite. “Now, how are you enjoying your time Underground?”

Sarah wasn’t sure what to expect when she entered the room, but a discussion of her living conditions hadn’t been on the list. Uninterested in this conversation, she replies only, “Fine.”

“Fine,” Warrin imitates, and though he hadn’t mocked her voice, she’s certain he intended offense. “Very few humans ever see the Underground, you know. You are very lucky to have been chosen!”

“If I’d been given a choice, I would have stayed where I was,” she says, appalled at his audacity.

He leans toward her, a conspiratorial look on his face. “I am not one to speak critically of my wife, but between you and me, I believe she was quite cruel to bring you here without your consent.” He cuts off another bite of meat and puts it in his mouth.

“Elga said you marked me. That you intended to bring me here when I came of age.”

Warrin sighs and drops his fork to his plate with a clatter. He sits back in his chair and looks at the ceiling as he finishes chewing his food and swallows. “That woman,” he mutters. He looks at Sarah and continues, “Men should never marry, my dear. We can have everything we want without making _that_ commitment. But when you’re young, it’s hard to remember that all things must end, even love.”

“If you don’t think Jareth and I should be together, why did you bring me here?”

“I didn’t bring you here,” he corrects. “Things would have been quite different if I had.”

“I’ve heard,” she replies, shortly.

“Really, my love? Did she tell you everything, then? Did she tell you I wouldn’t have disallowed you from returning Above?”

“What do you mean?” Sarah asks, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. “I had to do what Jareth did.” Jareth had been there every step of the way, helping her come into her powers as quickly as possible. 

“Exactly, dearest! Jareth already knew how to return you Above. He’d done it once before, remember.” 

She did remember. He’d deposited her in her family’s living room and flown away in his owl form, the clock striking midnight as he left. She remembers shouting at him to do it again and his adamant denial that it was possible.

“Elga made it impossible,” Sarah whispers to herself.

“Clever girl,” Warrin says, patronizingly. He lifts his wine goblet to his mouth as he mutters, “Needlessly cruel to make you learn all that magic when Jareth could have simply done it for you.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, then sips.

Sarah simply sits, letting the shock of it wash over her.

“I could have helped you, you know. Given you the magic you needed to return Above without years of magical training.”

She looks at him suspiciously. “Why did you wait until now to tell me this?”

“You didn’t ask before.”

“I’m not asking now, either.” She doesn’t want to hear about how he could have sent her home, but she can’t help imagining herself in the black dress she now wears, sitting in her father’s living room, surrounded by her family dressed in their Christmas jammies, opening gifts on Christmas morning. It’s a ridiculous tableau. She is no longer a part of that world. Hasn’t been for a long time. 

“You feel like you no longer belong Above,” he states, almost as if reading her thoughts.

“I know I don’t,” she confirms.

“I could change that.”

That makes Sarah pause.

“Oh yes, my dear. I can reverse time to the day you were taken, and ensure you never have your little mishap. You could continue on with your life with no memory of your time here. Go to school, have a family, do whatever you like.” He takes another sip of his wine and sets the goblet on the table.

“You can’t do that,” she accuses. “No one can reorder that much time.” She remembers sitting in the grass, eating eggs on toast, as Jareth warned her that it could not be done.

“Wrong, dearest. _I_ can do that. You forget that I am much more powerful than your Jareth.”

Sarah sits as still as a stone, aghast. The opportunity he could give her is what she’s wanted for so long: to have her life back and make her own choices. To live her life as _she_ chooses and not as someone else has chosen for her. She’d never have her car crash, never be transformed. 

Never be with Jareth.

Warrin is offering her a choice between her mortal life or this Underground existence, and though he has not said so explicitly, she understands that she cannot have both. 

She thinks about her life Above. Her father: well-meaning, but disengaged and unsure how to relate to his grown daughter. Her stepmother: caring, but keenly interested in seeing Sarah develop relationships outside the family. Her brother: already seeming to understand that he’ll grow up in her shadow, almost eager for her to leave.

The truth hits her hard. Elga had taken her at a crucial transition in her life, one that every adult must go through: leaving home. She’d struck out that day to begin her adult life, gain the skills she’d need to support herself, possibly find a partner, and have children of her own. It was hard and cruel and _just not fair_ that it happened the way that it did, but she had found love and purpose and a new life. Perhaps it hadn’t taken a familiar or expected shape, but here she is, with everything she had set out that day to find. Now, given the chance, she finds she would not change it. Not even for the sake of saying a proper goodbye.

“Ah, but you _are_ in love, aren’t you?” Warrin says, slyly.

“I am,” she states, unashamed.

“I remember being in love,” he replies, wistfully. “Don’t you find it odd, though, to feel so strongly about someone who doesn’t love you back?”

Sarah’s eyes narrow as she watches the little red-faced man.

“No matter, darling girl, your love for him won’t last,” he says, his tone is sweet, almost caring. “Go back to your family. Live your life. Let Jareth live _his_ live. He was quite happy before you were brought here, I can assure you. Happier, even.”

“You don’t know that,” Sarah says, defensively, ashamed that his words are affecting her. She had confessed her love to Jareth, but he had not told her he loved her back. It had felt so important to tell him, it hadn’t occurred to her until Warrin pointed it out that Jareth hadn’t returned the sentiment.

“Oh, my love,” he says, sounding genuinely sorry, “I do. I know everything about him.”

Warrin has Jareth’s real name. Of course he knows everything. Jareth wouldn’t be able to hide it.

He reaches across the table toward her as if to comfort her. She leaves her hands in her lap, not allowing him to touch her. He lets his fingers rest on the wood close to her as he continues, “I hate to tell you this, dear girl, but Jareth… he has used you. He has grown tired of the guests at my Soirée and it’s so very convenient for him to find his comfort with someone already in the Labyrinth.” He sighs as if it has hurt him greatly to break the news to her. “Quite shameful, really,” Warrin mutters.

She feels as if Warrin has physically slapped her. The idea that Jareth has only been using her for sex nauseates her. 

“Give me your name, my darling, and I will make this all go away. Wouldn’t you like to see your father again? Your brother? They never recovered from your disappearance. Think of how happy they’ll be to see you again.”

The pain of her loss is still too fresh and Sarah can barely see the red-haired man through the tears in her eyes. If it’s true - if Jareth really doesn’t love her - perhaps it would be best if she didn’t stay. If Warrin sends her home, back to her own time and to her family…

_That man will only lie to you._

She hears Elga’s voice in her memory as clearly as if the woman was speaking directly to her. Jareth had not confessed his love for her, not in words, but he has been there for her, supported and helped her for over two hundred years, and she doesn’t believe for a moment he would have done that if he had no feelings for her.

“Where is Jareth?” she demands.

“I suppose if you don’t believe me, you could simply ask him. He’s across the hall, in the throne room.”

She stands from the table, head held high, and strides purposefully out of the dining room and into the massive grand hall. 

“I did try to warn you!” His words follow her out of the room.

No longer worried about the sound her feet make against the cold, hard marble, she quickly crosses to the other door. 

Looking inside, she finds a room dominated by an enormous baldachin, red with a subtle gold pattern. Two grand thrones of gold upholstered with red velvet sit on a large dais. Both thrones are huge and ornately decorated, but they are not what catch her eye as she enters the room. Jareth slouches in the left throne, looking down at her, his mouth quirked to one side in an odd smile. 

He looks wrong, she notices. He’s too still. Jareth is always moving: his cloaks sway and billow, his swagger stick taps, his crystals dance and spin. The man on the throne is not moving, not tapping, not spinning crystals.

She approaches him cautiously. 

“Sarah,” he says, stretching out her name in a low voice. “I’m so pleased you could come. I do believe it’s time we had a little chat.”

Sarah, silent, continues walking to the dais, her eyes locked on Jareth. His expression is cold, not even as warm as the way he’d looked at her when she first saw him in her parents’ bedroom so long ago.

Warrin seems to appear from nowhere to stand at Jareth’s right-hand side. He is short enough to whisper directly into Jareth’s ear as he sits in the throne, but he doesn’t bother to lower his voice as he urges Jareth, “Tell her, my love.”

“You really should listen to Warrin, pet,” he says. “You would be happier if you went back. Your family would be happier. And I could look for someone-” his eyes travel down her body then narrow critically, “-more suitable to be my queen.”

Sarah pauses to look down at herself, taking in her bare feet, bare legs, and tiny black dress. 

“You don’t mean that,” she argues.

Jareth tsks. “Oh, Sarah. Life gets to be so terribly boring Underground, and you’ve been such a lovely little diversion. You should really be very pleased. To think that a plain girl from Above could hope to hold my interest even after your most interesting metamorphosis. You’re not a complete disappointment, after all, but why would I want you when I could have anyone?”

“The Jareth I know has no interest in the women at the Soirée.”

“There are many kingdoms in the Underground,” Jareth purrs, leaning forward, a gleam in his eyes. “So many beautiful women, in need of no training, ready to take on the mantle of Queen. A queen in whom the Labyrinth could take pride.

“Go home, Sarah,” he cajoles as he sits back, smiling. “There’s nothing for you here.”

“The Labyrinth is my home,” she says through gritted teeth.

“The weak ones always cling so,” Jareth says to Warrin, with a smirk.

“Indeed, my love. Elga never clutches at her lovers in such a way. It’s quite unbecoming,” Warrin replies.

“Elga hates your guts,” Sarah snaps at him.

“And yet she continues to draw men to her. You might pay closer attention to her methods if you hope to attract a man yourself,” Warrin says. “You’re not wholly unattractive, my darling, but so dour. So cheerless. Perhaps if you smiled more, you would be more appealing.”

“Quite,” Jareth agrees. 

She looks back at Jareth in time to find him hiding a smile behind a gloved hand, his index finger casually placed just under his nose. He’s enjoying her discomfort. She feels as if she’s been set up, the true entertainment for the evening.

“I’m beginning to see why Elga wants you dead,” Sarah says, looking at Warrin.

Warrin laughs. “Young lady, Elga does not wish me dead! Whatever made you believe such a thing? No, no, no. She could kill me herself, if she so chose. This is merely a game that has gone on for far too long. She’s had her fun, and now it is time to set things right.”

“I do so look forward to putting things back in order in the Labyrinth. I must thank Elga for returning my bog to its proper state,” Jareth adds. 

“Did she now?” Warrin asks. “Well, then, I suppose I won’t judge her too harshly for having us clean up this particular mess.” He turns his gaze back toward Sarah.

Sarah can feel the heat in her face and knows she’s bright red with indignation, anger, and embarrassment. This is not the Jareth she knows, certainly not the one she loves. He’s not even the Jareth she first met, who opposed and challenged her and, in so doing, helped her grow and embrace adult responsibility. The man on the throne is only cruel, only destructive.

She thinks back on her time with Jareth. She has never felt insecure around him before, not even in the beginning when she viewed him as an adversary, and she refuses to start now. She is the Goblin Queen and nobody, not even Jareth, is in any position to criticize her.

But she doesn’t believe for a moment he would ever say such things to her. Warrin, on the other hand, has Jareth’s name, and can make him say whatever he wants.

“These thrones,” she says, pointedly ignoring Jareth and speaking directly to Warrin, “Aren’t they really for you? Why aren’t you sitting in one of them?”

Warrin only laughs, crossing one ankle over the other and leaning against the throne in which Jareth is seated. “I am no king, my love. I am a kingmaker!” he says triumphantly. “I am showing Jareth what a real castle looks like, what a real throne _feels_ like. I have watched you in that dreary little shack beyond the Goblin City, dearest. No matter what you do with it, it will never be a real castle, and the Labyrinth will never be a real kingdom. Not with you in power.” 

Warrin’s eyes travel down her body in much the same way Jareth’s had earlier, and it makes her skin crawl. She raises her hands self-consciously and tugs at the draping neckline of the garment, ensuring that her chest is completely covered. 

“You don’t even know how to dress properly,” he scoffs. “My dear boy, did you never bother to teach her?”

“Now, now, Warrin,” Jareth replies coolly. “A sow’s ear cannot be transformed into a silk purse.”

Sarah has had quite enough of people insulting her. She drops her hands from the neckline of her dress, allowing the folds to drape properly and expose an expanse of white skin and the seal of her office. She will not be shamed by any of it.

“We, Jareth and I, were never the ones in control, though, were we?” she asks. “You were always, will always, be at the helm, whispering into the ears of your figurehead.” Sarah begins circling to the side of the dais, removing Jareth from between Warrin and herself. 

Warrin only laughs, his amusement plain as he confirms her accusations. “Oh yes, my love!” he runs the back of his index finger down the side of Jareth’s face. Jareth does not react. “He is mine to do with as I please. The people in his kingdom are mine as well. They do not need to bow to me when I can manipulate the land on which they live and the air they breath. I can make them do whatever I want! Now why, my darling girl, would I ever want to give that up?”

“You’re controlling him now,” she accuses.

“He speaks only the truth!” Warrin counters. ‘You’ll be happier Above, where you’ll be free to go your own way and do whatever it is you want to do. In the Underground, you’ll never have the agency you seek. You’ll never have real authority over your life, nevermind your kingdom or your king.” 

He smiles, his expression remorselessly amused. “Just tell me your name, your _true_ name, and I will return you to your father’s home, the only place you were ever truly loved.”

Sarah realizes in that instant that Warrin is right, at least about one thing. She will never be in control. She’s not bothered that she’ll never control Jareth; she has never wanted that kind of power over him. But she does want control over her own life, and while Warrin and Elga exist, she never will. If she gives Warrin her name, he’ll always have it, and he’ll always be able to find her, twisting her life in any way that he may find entertaining. There is a possibility that he’ll keep his word and send her back to her own time, but he has no real reason to honor that promise when he could even more easily send her to the same dark hell Elga has already promised her.

The only thing that confuses Sarah is why Warrin isn’t being particularly convincing. He has spent the evening insulting and berating her. If Jareth truly doesn’t want her, Warrin could simply put her in another kingdom or dump her in any city Above. It wouldn’t matter where; she wouldn’t know anyone anyway. Why would he promise to send her back to her family? Why offer her anything she might actually want?

And that’s when she realizes it.

“You’re afraid,” she says with wonder.

Warrin only laughs. “Of what? You?”

“You’ve never been afraid of anyone before, have you?” she asks, stalling for time as she thinks frantically back to her conversations with Elga. 

_The Red King_ , she keeps calling him. That has to be it! She glances at Jareth, knowing that if she fails, she’ll have lost him. Even if Elga doesn’t take her out of the Labyrinth, she knows that Warrin will never allow her to be with Jareth again. Even now, Jareth sits on the elaborate throne, his face a mirror of Warrin’s amused, skeptical expression.

_The Red King._

She remembers that red is “rua” and that king is “rí.” 

Red king. Rua rí.

The power she can sense behind the words takes her breath away. But it doesn’t quite fit what she heard Elga say just before she’d been devoured and her transformation completed.

_Only you can stop…_

It wasn’t “roar,” Sarah realizes. Elga speaks with a brogue and Sarah had overlooked the precise pronunciation of Elga’s words, hearing only a single syllable when Elga had actually spoken two. Elga had managed to tell Sarah the first two syllables of Warrin’s real name. 

_Ruarí._

She tests the power on him, seeing all of his vital functions, trying to control him the way he controls Jareth, but his power is so far beyond her, that there is no hope of success. He doesn’t even notice her attempt.

She thinks hard, looking around the room, trying to find something that might weaken or distract him and remembers the sword Elga had offered her earlier. It was iron! She remembers building a fire and discussing iron with Jareth. He’d been vague about its effects, but it might be the distraction she needs. Sarah concentrates, then feels a heavy weight dragging down her right arm as she summons the sword to her. She takes the first step up to the dais, and then the second. 

Jareth stands when he sees the iron sword, his face plainly showing genuine shock. Sarah wonders if it’s Jareth’s own expression or one Warrin is forcing him to wear. Warrin remains in place, a bemused smirk on his face as if he doesn’t think Sarah will be able to harm him in any way. He does nothing to defend himself, opening himself up to Sarah as if she poses no threat whatsoever, almost inviting her to attack. It’s an opportunity she won’t ignore.

Sarah raises her sword and thrusts it with all her strength into his chest, hoping to run him through, and succeeding.

Shocked, Warrin stumbles backward a step. Then he begins to laugh. He looks at the hilt of the sword where it rests against his breast and cranes his neck in an attempt to see where the blade has exited his back.

Sarah holds her ground, her hands still on the hilt of the sword. 

Warrin looks back at her as his laughter dies and his expression changes to one of malevolent contempt. “You stupid girl. You stupid, stupid _girl._ ” He takes a slow step toward her, pushing against the sword, the pain of the iron blade slowing him down. 

Sarah can see its effects in the chemicals of his body. It weakens his muscles, making him slow and clumsy. If she leaves it in his body, he’ll soon be completely paralyzed. She lets him push against the sword, and pushes back with all her might. He’s surprisingly strong, even stronger than Sarah, despite the iron coursing through his system.

“Did you think that your blade would end me?” he asks. “You cannot kill me! I am the land on which you live and the food you eat! I am the stories you tell and the songs you sing!” 

_He doesn’t know,_ Sarah realizes. He has no idea that she knows his name.

In his aura, she can see his attachment to Elga, like a leash holding her to him. But there are other attachments as well; seven more tethers holding him in place. She can feel them wrapped around him, disallowing her from doing anything with the switch that controls his mortality. 

“You may have once been all of those things,” she tells him, “but you allowed us to take them from you long ago. _We_ are the land we work. We are the food we grow. We are the songs and stories that we create and share. _We_ control the Goblin Kingdom. Not you.”

One of the tethers holding Warrin loosens from around him and Sarah can feel it attach itself to her. She feels the magic of the Labyrinth settle around her like a cloak and she realizes that the tethers are kingdoms! She studies the tether that she has claimed for her own and can see the fabric of the land and can sense the reason for the single season in the Labyrinth, and, more importantly, for the transformation from human to goblin. Warrin has created these rules. He has bent the magic to his desires.

She can feel the Labyrinth now. She can feel the people living and working within it. She can feel the walls and the vegetation, the homes and the empty spaces. She’s felt this before, during her transformation, when her roots reached deep into the earth and her branches provided refuge for dozens of creatures. She welcomes the sensations, embracing them as the denizens of the Labyrinth had embraced her.

Warrin takes another pained step toward her. “I am never-ending and eternal. I will be here when the stars fade and darkness creeps over all the worlds.” 

She concentrates on the other tethers surrounding Warrin, pulling on one and bringing it toward herself. She can sense a kingdom of trolls, but it is dark. She remembers Hoggle telling her that most of Jareth’s subjects came from fallen kingdoms. She hadn’t thought of the people who were left behind; surely Jareth hadn’t saved everyone. She looks deeper at the connection and can sense intense suffering coming from the Troll Kingdom. Warrin had allowed it to fail, _wanted_ it to fail so he could watch the torment and distress of the people trapped there. 

Warrin’s eyes grow huge, and Sarah knows he has realized what she’s doing. “I will drag you through eternity by your hair!” he shouts, “I will throw you in the deepest pit of the deepest dungeon, pulling you out of confining darkness only when I want to see you defiled by a creature of my own making.” His final words are hissed through his teeth, spittle flying from his lips.

Frightened now, Sarah attempts to sever the tie between Warrin and the Troll Kingdom, but it will not be cut. Suddenly, Sarah understands why Elga brought her Underground, why she hadn’t killed Warrin herself. Each land demands a master; they will not allow Warrin to die unless and until someone takes the magic from him. If Elga had tried to kill him, she would have had to take the magic onto herself, tying herself to each land and trapping herself just as effectively as Warrin had done. 

The smell of sunshine and leather permeates her senses just before Jareth catches Sarah from behind, one hand around her waist, the other at her throat. Jareth’s hold is rough and uncaring as he pulls her backward, away from Warrin. She loses her grip on the sword, leaving it embedded in Warrin’s chest as Jareth pulls her back toward the stairs.

Warrin grips the sword, and with a loud groan, begins to pull it from his chest. 

She lets Jareth cut off her airway. She doesn’t need it as she concentrates on unwrapping the remaining six tethers from around Warrin and taking them for herself, hoping she can take them all before he can remove the cold iron from his body. She can feel the suffering of each fallen kingdom as she comes into contact with its tether, but she refuses to be overwhelmed by the misery of the people in them. She’ll shoulder the responsibility for them, take them out of Warrin’s cruel hands, and maybe, just maybe, help the people who still live in them.

When the last tether settles itself around her, she concentrates on trying to free Elga, but the tie between Warrin and Elga is more ephemeral than Warrin’s ties to the land. Sarah can’t seem to hold it, pull it, or cut it. The more she concentrates on catching it, the more it slips away from her.

Warrin’s grunt of pain attracts Sarah’s attention and she can see that he has nearly pulled the sword free of his body. She’s not sure how quickly the man will recover from iron poisoning, but she can’t afford to let him stick the sword in her own body. He doesn’t have her name, and he never will, but she knows that if he manages to stab her with the sword, she’ll be too weak to fight him off and she has no doubts he’ll carry through with his threats, damning her to an eternity of darkness and unimaginable torture.

Sarah stomps on Jareth’s booted foot as hard as she can, then thrusts her elbow into his ribs. The blows catch him off-guard and he loosens his grip on her. She throws her head back and catches his mouth with the back of her skull, forcing him to stumble down the stairs of the dais. She sees stars, but doesn’t allow them to distract her. 

She rushes at Warrin and pushes the sword back into his chest. Her movements are clumsy and the sword enters his body at a different angle, finding a new exit out his back. Warrin gasps in pain, and Sarah sees another surge of iron poison his system.

“I take your name, I take your kingdoms, I take your _power_ ,” she says, her voice quiet, but firm. “All things must end, Ruarí. Even you.” 

She concentrates on his mortality, trying to move the switch that will end him, but it’s more difficult than she thought it would be. She focuses her magic, working harder, sweat breaking out across her forehead, and it begins to shift.

“I’ll kill him,” he says in a voice thick with pain. Sarah pauses, his threat cutting through her concentration. “You have my name? I have his, and I will take him with me. Understand me, _girl_ , this can end in one of two ways. Let me live and you can go back to your mortal life with your mortal family. I will never bother you or your kin. Kill me and you lose them _and_ your lover.”

Jareth gives a pained groan, but she can’t afford to turn and look at him. She knows Warrin is already hurting him, pushing Jareth’s mortality the same way she pushes Warrin’s. No matter which she chooses, she loses Jareth forever.

She can have her old life or she can have nothing.

But, no, that’s not right, she realizes as she turns his words over in her head. Warrin has ruined so many kingdoms. So many lives. So many people are hurting and dying for this man’s entertainment. She can have her old life or she can save those who suffer for the amusement of the Red King. She can save everyone. 

Everyone but Jareth.

“You stole my life,” she whispers, unable to find her voice.

“If you regain your life, it was only borrowed,” he says, his speech slower than normal. 

He’d misunderstood her; she hadn’t been thinking of her mortal life with the family she’d been born into, she’d meant her life in the Labyrinth with the family she’d built. Jareth, Hoggle, Ludo, Sir Didymus, and every one of the Labyrinth’s inhabitants. They were her family. They were her life.

Sarah studies Warrin, watching how the iron affects him. She can see the final tether, Warrin’s mutual bond with Elga, begin to dissolve, and soon it is nothing more than wisps of her essence infusing his aura. When it disappears entirely, Sarah knows that Elga has finally gotten what she wanted: her end. 

She hadn’t even said “thanks.”

She looks deeply into Warrin’s eyes, no longer concentrating on the chemicals in his system. She sees only a man, handsome and cruel, excruciating pain twisting his features. Whatever he felt for Elga, whatever twisted version of love or ownership he subscribed to, he would never have let her go. Not if he could help it. And now she’s gone and he hasn’t even noticed.

Jareth’s breathing grows labored at the bottom of the stairs.

“Make your choice now, or he’s nothing but a memory,” Warrin warns her, his words slightly slurred.

Warrin’s mortality is in Sarah’s hands, his switch already partially moved towards death. Is he so weakened that she can move faster than him? Can she end him before he ends Jareth? Is she willing to take that chance?

She remembers poor Jenna. Sarah had been so sure that she could change the magic before anyone else would be affected, so certain that no innocent children would be transformed under her watch. And she’d been wrong. She’d gambled and lost.

The stakes are too high to risk losing again.

She nods, sorrow creasing her brow. “Ok,” she says, finally.

Warrin’s expression relaxes, the anger leaving his eyes as a look of victory creeps over his face. 

Sarah tightens her grip on the hilt of the sword and _twists._ The unexpected burst of pain distracts him and she pushes the switch with all of her might. 

She’d gambled and lost in the Labyrinth because Warrin had stacked the deck. She can’t let him continue to torture innocent people for his own amusement, even if it means sacrificing everything that has ever meant anything to her. He doesn’t scream, doesn’t seem to react at all, as his body begins to collapse in on itself.

She watches in horror, refusing to look away, refusing to pull her hands off the sword, until he is nothing more than a wet lump of flesh and red clothing on the carpet-covered marble of the dais. When his remains finally settle, she stares at them, the sword still in her hands, her breath coming faster and faster. Her rage boils over, starting low in her gut, rising until it finds her voice and escapes her in a howl of fury. She lifts the sword and brings it down hard three more times for good measure. On the third strike, it catches in a seam in the marble floor. As her scream fades from her, she releases the sword, allowing the marble to hold it upright in the remains of the Red King.

She is still shaking and gasping for breath as she turns a wary eye toward Jareth. He lies crumpled on the floor at the bottom of the steps, eyes closed, a thin stream of blood dripping from his split lip.

Her heart lodges in her throat as she runs the few steps to his fallen body and drops to her knees.

“Jareth?” she says, her voice gentle as she cradles his face. She runs two fingers to the side of his neck, feeling for his pulse, but she’s shaking so violently that she can’t feel one. Frustrated, panicked tears come to her eyes. “Jareth!” she shouts, hoping to wake him.

“Sarah,” he whispers, and the air rushes out of her lungs as if she’s been punched.

“Jareth… oh gods, you’re alive!” Relief overwhelms her, making the tears in her eyes spill over. She lets out a sob, running her hands over his chest, just because she needs to touch him and reassure herself that he’s really here and really alive.

He’s muttering apologies for the terrible things Warrin had him say until she stops his lips with her own. And then she finds herself apologizing to him as well, touching his bleeding lip gingerly, then kissing him again softly.

He finally pulls her down onto him, tangling his hand in her hair and holding her head against his chest. She wraps her arms around him, under his leather jacket, trying to get as close to his skin as possible.

“I like your dress,” he says, his voice slightly stronger.

Through her tears, she laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story.
> 
> Acknowledgments:  
> In addition to _Labyrinth,_ this work is inspired by the Gary Jules cover of the song "Mad World" by Tears for Fears, Challenge #26: By the Pier in the Livejournal Labyfic Community, and by my friend M. who will probably not read this, but should be acknowledged nonetheless.
> 
> I’ve misspelled the name Ruairí, because there’s a surprise letter in the real spelling that Sarah just wouldn’t know about. My Irish-speaking friends assure me, though, that Irish was an oral language, and so I decided that knowing how to pronounce it was the key, rather than knowing how to spell it.
> 
> This story has been beta'd by Aurora Kemanche and Exulansis. 
> 
> Again, I’d like to extend a special thank you to Exulansis who did a special alpha-read on the second draft of this chapter, and then she went ahead and did the beta-read on my rewrites as well! Her suggestions and feedback really amped up the tension of this chapter and made it so much more exciting! Thank you!
> 
>  _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


	18. Underground

Sarah concentrates on the feel of the cool water on her skin and the sound of the waterfall spilling into the pond above her. She relaxes into the sensations, letting herself drift with the slight current of the water. It’s only been a few hours since her confrontation with Warrin, and she knows it’s hopeless to try to focus on anything else, but the water calms and centers her, and allows her to process her emotions. By her own hand, Warrin is dead. She turns it over and over in her head, expecting to feel some pang of regret or remorse, but for now, she feels nothing. For now there is only the gentle push of the current, and the relief of knowing neither Warrin nor Elga control her.

Sarah finds herself captivated with the control she now has over herself. She briefly considers restarting her reproductive system, just because she can, but quickly rejects the idea. Two hundred years without a period and she still doesn’t miss them. Aging on the other hand… Yes, she thinks she’d quite like to be a little older, physically. 

Elga had been true to her word, in the end. “A seat of tremendous power,” she had promised, and she had definitely delivered. But Sarah can’t help but feel a little bitter that the seat Elga had apparently intended was power over several dying kingdoms.

Cautiously, she reaches for one of the tethers, mentally focusing on the way it ties her to the foreign land. The Dwarf Kingdom is not as dark as the Troll Kingdom, but it is just as desolate. There are people there, and she can feel their desperation, their fear, and their hunger. Why hadn’t they come to the Labyrinth? 

Shuddering, she turns her attention away from the fallen kingdoms. She’ll need to do something about them, the sooner the better, but she needs time to think and to plan. For now, she focuses on her new attachment to the Labyrinth. It’s brilliant in comparison to the others, vibrant and happy. But it feels wrong to keep it to herself. She may be queen here, but if the kingdom belongs to anybody, it should be Jareth. He had built it with his bare hands from nothing. 

He’d been weak when she’d transported them from Warrin and Elga’s throne room. He’d assured her again and again that it was to be expected after the dream walk and his struggle with Warrin. No permanent harm done. But Sarah couldn’t help worrying. Not when she’d come so close to losing him.

She’d joined him in their bed when they’d arrived back at the castle, but her nervous energy had rendered her unable to be still. After an hour of restlessness, Jareth had finally convinced her to go to her pond in order to relax - and allow him to sleep. She blushes at the memory, wondering if she’s been gone long enough to justify rejoining him. 

She swims to the surface intent on returning to the castle, if only to sit next to the bed while he sleeps. The eastern horizon is just beginning to lighten as she breaks the surface of the water and pulls herself onto the flat rock by the pond. She stands to find Jareth resting against the trunk of a tree, his long legs stretched out in front of him, eyes closed, and she can’t stop the smile that spreads across her face. He’s beautiful, and she takes a moment to truly appreciate her view. 

Walking softly and quietly, she approaches and kneels beside him. Leaning in, she ghosts a kiss across his lips, hoping not to wake him. She is only mildly surprised when his arms surround her and hold her gently against him as he deepens the kiss. He doesn’t seem to mind the water dripping from her hair and skin into his pale clothing as he holds her close and she runs her fingers through his wild hair. 

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” she scolds gently when he moves from her mouth to kiss along her jaw.

“I made a grave miscalculation,” he says. Sarah feels her pulse quicken with anxiety, but it is stifled when Jareth licks behind her ear. 

“Oh?” she asks, puzzled.

“I sent you away,” he says, moving to the other side of her neck and placing a line of kisses from her shoulder to her jaw. “A terrible, terrible mistake.”

Sarah grins, leaning her head to the side to allow him easier access.

“Did the Goblin King just admit he made a mistake? We’ll need to declare a holiday to commemorate the event.”

He growls and pulls her tighter against him. “I intend to rectify the situation immediately,” he says as he drops a hand down to her thigh, encouraging her to straddle him.

“What happened to resting?” she asks as she settles onto his lap, scratching the nape of his neck gently with her nails.

“I’ve had all the rest I need. There are now other needs to which I must attend.”

“I see,” she says, her voice breathy as she rotates her hips ever so slightly to feel his hard length through the fabric of his ever-so-snug trousers.

She runs her fingers from the back of his neck down over the front of his shirt, feeling the beating of his heart under the pale blue silk. He’s wearing a feathered cloak in shades of gray and white that reminds her of the one he wore so long ago when he’d offered her everything and she’d denied him. She won’t deny him anymore.

“Always so overdressed,” she whispers as she pushes the cloak off of his shoulders.

“I intend to rectify that situation immediately as well.” His silk and leather disappear and she closes her eyes and sighs as she rocks against him.

He holds her close, tangling one hand in her hair while the other holds her hip, encouraging her slow, sensual movements. Kissing her slowly, he runs his tongue along her lip and nibbles gently. 

Sarah tries not to think of the past twenty-four hours and throw herself solely into this moment with Jareth, but can’t push away the residual anxiety over nearly losing him. 

He seems to sense her disquiet and pulls away. “I made things more difficult for you,” he says, resting his forehead against hers.

“What do you mean?” she asks, genuinely puzzled.

“I never admitted how I felt. Not to _him-_ ” she’s thankful he refuses to use the name “-and not to you. It made it easy for him to plant doubt in your mind. To make you think that returning back to the moment you were taken would be the best course of action.”

“No,” Sarah says gently. “I never doubted. Not really.” She smiles and pulls away so she can look him in the eye. “The way you treat me. All of the things you’ve done for me. You don’t do that for someone you don’t love. It didn’t need to be said.”

“Oh, you precious thing,” he says solemnly, his gaze intense. “It _always_ needs to be said. 

“Sarah Williams, I make this vow to you: I will not only show you that I love you. I will say it to you. I will say it every day. There will never be a moment when you need doubt I love you.”

Overwhelmed, Sarah kisses him. She throws her entire being into her kiss trying to show him how much she loves him back. And then she grins and pulls away for just a moment.

“I love you, too,” she says. 

He pulls her back to him, kissing her fervently. She meets his enthusiasm with her own, relishing the way he tastes and the way he feels. She can’t seem to get close enough to him, though she is pressed tightly against him.

She lifts her hips and lowers herself onto him, gasping as he fills her. When she has settled on his lap, she stills, allowing herself to adjust to the feel of him. 

Jareth moves his lips to her neck, licking and nibbling his way from one ear, under her chin, and to the other.

“Jareth, look at me,” she says. He pulls away and looks at her and she studies him as she begins to move.

She sets a slow pace, taking him deeply before rising until she is nearly empty. She watches him closely as she lowers herself once more, watches how his right eye dilates to match the left and the way his lips part as his breath begins to come faster. She strokes the sides of his face, feeling the softness of the skin under his ears and the sharp, nearly imperceptible stubble on his chin.

He keeps his hands on her hips, encouraging her movements, but allowing her to keep the pace, giving her free reign to do whatever she may like.

“I love you,” she murmurs again and again, beginning to move faster, needing the friction.

Each time, he responds, “I love you. I love you.” His words are soft, meant only for her ears, and she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face every time he says it.

His eyes never leave hers as they move in tandem, and she can sense he’s close.

“Touch me,” she says.

“Yes,” he replies, as he moves a hand from her hip and uses his thumb to circle her clit. It’s more than she can stand, and she closes her eyes, unable to keep them open.

“Stay with me, Sarah,” he says, and it grounds her, brings her back to him. She meets his gaze again.

“Always,” she breathes, and then she breaks, shattering apart and she can feel him break as well. They fly together, as they were meant to, and when they return to earth, they remain in each other’s arms as the sun peeks over the horizon and a new day begins.

 

They return to the castle when the day brightens and the Labyrinth wakes, but they remain in their bedchamber as the sun continues its arc across the sky, touching and tasting one another, each expressing their relief and gratitude for the presence of the other. They occasionally doze, catching brief snippets of sleep before one wakes the other to begin again. The sun is just kissing the Western horizon when Sarah wakes to the sound of breaking crystal.

“Jareth?” Sarah says, groggily, reaching out to him and finding his side of the bed cold and empty, but before she begins to worry, the bed dips and he is beside her.

He’s smiling at her, and there is a mischievous glint in his eye that immediately puts her on her guard. He’s dressed, she notices, in a deep red silk shirt and grey trousers, shiny black boots on his feet.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I’ve brought you a gift,” he says, his smile falling away. Sarah realizes his expression matches the one he wore the first time he said that sentence to her. However, he holds no crystal out to her.

She sits up and looks around the room. It takes a moment for her to realize that it has been changed: there is a new stairwell on the far wall. 

“What is it?” she asks, giving him a puzzled look, and his only reply is a gesture for her to investigate.

She approaches the top of the stairs and looks down. They’re narrow where she stands, but gradually widen as they lead downward into an enormous space. She begins to descend and sees that the room is at least two stories high and must take up half the width of the castle. Wide windows reach from close to the floor almost to the ceiling, letting in plenty of golden evening light. Dozens of desks and chairs line the center of the room while small groupings of comfortable armchairs are tucked away into quiet corners. Most importantly, the walls are lined with dozens, possibly hundreds of enormous bookshelves. 

Sarah finds herself turning circles in the enormous space, trying to take it all in.

“No castle needs to contain the ‘the world’s most depressing office building,’ but it should contain a good library,” Jareth says, stepping down the stairs behind her. 

Sarah blushes, remembering her flippant comment about the rows and rows of bland, empty offices.

“It’s not a library yet,” she says gesturing at the empty shelves. 

“It’s a project we can work on together. Travel the world Above and bring home books we find.”

She looks at him apprehensively, remembering the devastation of the land where her childhood home used to stand. “Do you think they still have many books Above?” Jenna had only had a copy of _The Labyrinth_ in her room, and Sarah wonders how common books might be now.

He wraps his arms around her snugly, comforting her. “Humanity exists, so stories exist. We may also find some histories and discover what happened to your home.” He thinks for a moment before adding, “To my home as well.”

It’s thoughtful, she thinks. It’s more than thoughtful. Collecting humanity’s stories, fictional and non, is a beautiful idea and a worthy goal, but the thought of relaxing, enjoying good food and comfort, and visiting exciting new places feels wrong. She can’t do it while she knows people are suffering in the kingdoms she is now responsible for. She needs to tell him. About the Labyrinth if nothing else.

Her reaction isn’t what he was expecting, and she can see the concern in his eyes. 

“Sarah, are you alright?”

“Yes,” she replies. “And no, I guess,” she adds after a brief hesitation. “How is your memory of yesterday?”

“Vivid,” he says, his expression turning dark. She knows what it’s like to be controlled by someone else and understands his anger. 

“You know I don’t blame you. Not for any of it.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Do you know why Elga made me kill him? Why she couldn’t do it herself?”

“She didn’t want to get her hands dirty.”

Sarah shakes her head. “No, I think if she could have killed him, she would have. There’s something about the magic of this place that held him here.”

“What kind of magic?” he asks.

“I’m not sure yet, I’m still trying to understand it.” She pauses, considering telling him about the fallen kingdoms. He’d been through so much for so long, working so hard to give everyone in the Labyrinth a decent life. She can’t lay the knowledge of these fallen kingdoms on him just yet. He should have some kind of a break to enjoy his new-found freedom before taking on even more responsibility. 

She continues, “He was tied to the Labyrinth and it anchored him here. The magic demands a master, and as long as he was attached to it, he couldn’t die. It just wouldn’t let him. Elga could have taken that tie from him, taken responsibility for the magic, but then she wouldn’t have been able to fade. I think that’s what she wanted, really. She just wanted to fade.”

“So she found someone to take the responsibility for her.”

“Yeah,” Sarah answers.

“You.”

“Yeah.” She looks at her toes on the stone floor, ashamed that she couldn’t tell him about the people in the other kingdoms who need their help. Ashamed that she controls what should rightfully be Jareth’s.

“But that’s wonderful,” he says. 

Sarah looks up at him in surprise. She’d expected him to be angry.

“You are the Goblin Queen, Sarah. The power over the Labyrinth should always have been with its monarch.”

“The Labyrinth is _yours_ , Jareth. It’s always been yours. It’s not right that I should have control of the magic.”

“The Labyrinth is _ours_ , Sarah. It has been since before you accepted your crown.”

“It feels wrong that I have all of the control over it.”

“Can the responsibility be shared?” It’s a practical question, and it catches her off-guard.

“Can it…?” she whispers, more to herself than anyone else. She pulls on the light tether, testing its strength. She concentrates, mentally pushing the tether to Jareth while she says, “The Labyrinth is ours.”

Jareth nods. “It’s ours.”

It is a gift, willingly given. As soon as words of acceptance leave his mouth, she feels the tether split in two, one half remaining with her and the other half finding Jareth. She cannot see it attach itself to him, but she can see his reaction: the shock of the power as it settles around him. She grins.

“Well, how do you like that?” she says, testing the tether. It does not feel weaker, despite being split. In fact, it feels more grounded and stable.

His eyes, dark and excited, flash as he pulls her close to him. “Let’s see what we can do with this,” he says. “Would you like to come with me to the throne room?”

Sarah nods and steps back from him a step before conjuring a crystal and letting it drop to her feet. The clothing she conjures is a simple A-line dress in emerald green with an unembellished tank bodice and a skirt that hits her mid-thigh.

“Beautiful,” Jareth says, looking only into her eyes, as he wraps one arm around her waist and transports them to the throne room.

The goblins are in a rare mood, more rowdy than normal. They cheer their monarchs’ arrival with raucous abandon as the sound of drums and guitar fill the air.

A tiny goblin finds Sarah immediately and hugs her ankle. Sarah recognizes the little thing and lifts it into her arms. It clutches her bicep as if it never wants to let go and Sarah strokes its back, comforting it.

Jareth stirs the other goblins into a frenzy, singing and dancing as they desperately try to keep up with him. Sarah quickly gets a feel for the music and begins adding her own touches, a string bass and a jazz piano accompaniment. She spins around with the little goblin, dancing with it until it begins to laugh and relax. Sarah studies it for a moment and then sees it, plain as day: the magic that will transform it back into a human girl.

She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even stop to think, and the little goblin begins to grow, taking on the features of its former self. The little goblin, startled, releases Sarah’s arm, and in just seconds, she’s Jenna once again. 

Jenna looks down at herself, around at the singing goblins, and then at Sarah. Her eyes are shocked, her mouth open in an “O” of surprise. And then her face cracks into an enormous grin and she begins to laugh. She grabs Sarah and hugs her tightly. Sarah hugs her back and meets Jareth’s eyes.

He sees them, and his own eyes light up. He continues singing and dancing, but as he looks at his goblins, each one of them begins to change, to grow our shrink depending on what they had looked like when they arrived in the Underground. 

Jenna leaves Sarah’s side to play with some of the children while Sarah quickly extends her magic into the room, clearing away the debris and detritus of the goblins. Most of them are toddlers, Sarah realizes, and all of them are having the time of their lives. An infant sitting on a ledge above the throne, bouncing to the music, loses her balance and tumbles before being neatly caught by Jareth and set into the depression in the floor. A few older children begin to chase each other around the room and Sarah laughs. Apparently there isn’t a whole lot of difference between goblins and children where their behavior is concerned. But she can feel their potential again and her heart feels full.

Without missing a beat, Jareth conjures a crystal and throws it at the single throne on its small dias. Sarah watches with wonder as the dais and the throne begin to expand until the throne is wide enough to accommodate two. Jareth turns back to Sarah and offers her his hand. 

“A loveseat?” Sarah asks, grinning. “Pretty strange for a throne.”

Jareth returns her smile. “This is _our_ kingdom. We decide what that means.”

She takes his offered hand, and together they ascend to the throne. They settle themselves, Jareth lounging in the crook of the curved backrest and Sarah leaning into Jareth, her legs tucked underneath her. 

“We’ll need to find some nursemaids,” he says, watching the children dance and play.

“I have three in mind already,” she replies, laughing at the thought of Hoggle, Sir Didymus, and Ludo watching over the unruly crowd of children. “Seriously, though… how are we going to take care of them all? Make sure they’re not hurt?” she asks.

Jareth looks down at her and raises an eyebrow. “They’re under our protection, are they not?”

“I mean, physically. They might still fall, hit their heads, break an arm, or worse. This place isn’t exactly child-proof.”

“They’re our subjects, Sarah. I know each of them by name and I’ve ensured that all but our newest-” he nods to Jenna, the only subject he has not yet met, “-are protected from any serious injury. They can bounce off the walls as they please and come to no harm.”

Sarah watches as Jenna, clearly the oldest of the group, checks on the babies one at a time, spending just a moment to laugh or make silly faces at them before moving on to the next. She can’t help but study Jenna’s vitals as she moves around the room.

“Will they be able to control themselves like we do?” she asks, curious.

“No,” he replies. “They’re human; they won’t have that kind of power.”

So Jenna will grow and age, but Sarah ensures that the girl is immune to most injuries and illnesses, providing her with a lifetime of good health. When she is older, Sarah will give her the option to stop aging and stay Underground as long as she likes.

She looks up at Jareth. “What are we, then? If we’re not human?”

He looks back at her, his expression haughty. “Isn’t it obvious, Sarah?” he asks, his voice low and smooth. His eyes drop to her chest as he reaches out and runs a finger over her pendant. When he glances back at her, there is a glint of mischief in his eyes. “We’re goblins.”

She watches him trace the design of her necklace, then places her hand on the one Jareth wears. “Goblins,” she agrees, grinning. 

In this moment, she can allow herself to push away thoughts of the fallen kingdoms and the people that need her help. Warrin’s absence can only be an improvement for them. She’ll devise a plan to bring them relief and help them build up their lands once more. But for now, she’ll take this moment with Jareth for herself. A single moment of peace, contentment, and happiness. Her reward.

As the music continues around them, Jareth pulls her closer and she kisses him.

 

Far away, in the cold, dark recesses of the tallest mountain of the Troll Kingdom, the King of the Trolls opens his eyes. He tests his bonds, pulling one arm and then another, meeting the resistance of the iron chains wrapped around his wrists. But he can sense a shift in power. Something has changed. He pulls harder on each arm, feeling the bolts that have been driven deep into the rock begin to give. Finally, one snaps. He turns and grasps the remaining chain with both hands and pulls with all his considerable might. The bolt breaks, and he falls to the rough, rocky floor of the cave. He breathes deeply, then begins to laugh. 

It’s time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story. 
> 
> Notes on this chapter:  
> Jareth’s line, “We decide what that means,” is paraphrased from the xkcd comic “Grownups.” https://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/grownups.png
> 
> Also, Jareth’s line, “It always needs to be said,” is a nod to Doctor Who. _Because it damn well does need saying, Doctor._
> 
> Ahem...
> 
> Credits and Acknowledgments:  
>  _Labyrinth_ is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.
> 
> This work was originally inspired by Challenge #26 at the LiveJournal Labyfic Community. The challenge was to write a fic that included a pier of some kind. Bonus points awarded if the author put Sarah in a red dress. My pier was written out of the story pretty quickly, but the red dress remained. 
> 
> M’s help was crucial in the development of this story. In fact, Warrin was basically her idea. The fic needed a villain and I knew it wouldn’t be Jareth, so Warrin was created. He is not based on any one person. Rather, he is a mix of the nastier traits of some of the worst people I’ve ever known. His physical appearance is mostly based on Hans Holbein the Younger’s portrait of King Henry VIII.
> 
> Fleshing out the plot of the story took several months, but it wasn’t until I happened to listen to Gary Jules’ cover of the Tears for Fears song “Mad World” that things really began to move. This fic is heavily inspired by the mood and lyrics of that song.
> 
> I met Aurora Kemanche when I was searching for a beta for _He Who Trespassed Against Us._ She responded to my post, and I will be forever grateful that she did. She’s an amazing beta and I feel so lucky to have met her. Thank you, Aurora. Really. :)
> 
> Exulansis was instrumental in the writing process for _Mad World._ I reached out to her last year for help plotting an entirely different (and, as yet, unwritten) fic. Through our conversations, I mentioned the idea for this story and where I saw it going, and suddenly, I had to write it. It was compulsory. She guided me through tricky plot ideas and has been so extremely supportive of me for the last several months. She alpha’d and beta’d these last three chapters and is the reason the climax of the story is as well-developed as it is. If you enjoyed this story, it is probably because of Exulansis’ influence. Hell, this fic wouldn’t even exist without her! So thank you, E. Thank you so much!
> 
> I began working on this fic on November 7, 2015. It was completed on April 28, 2017.
> 
> Playlist:  
> “Mad World” by Gary Jules (Tears for Fears)  
> “Cruel Summer” by Bananarama  
> “The Mysteries” by David Bowie  
> “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” by Tears for Fears  
> “Head Over Heels” by Tears for Fears  
> “Heroes” by David Bowie  
> “The 2nd Law: Isolated System” by Muse  
> “Doomsday” by Murray Head and the BBC National Orchestra of Wales  
> “Smoke” by Ben Folds Five  
> “Evaporated” by Ben Folds Five  
> “Silent Lucidity” by Queensrÿche  
> “The Light Before We Land” by The Delgados  
> “The Bitter End” by Placebo  
> “Underground” by Ben Folds Five
> 
> I found a lot of inspiration in books by Brian Froud, especially _Good Fairies, Bad Fairies._ I also found _The Time Traveler’s Guide to Medieval England_ by Ian Mortimer helpful when writing Jareth’s backstory.
> 
> Below are quotes that heavily inspired the direction of this fic:
> 
> “You know when you're a kid, they tell you it's all ‘Grow up, get a job, get married, get a house, have a kid’ and that's it. Nah. The truth is the world is so much stranger than that. It's so much darker. And so much madder. And so much better.” - _Doctor Who,_ “Love and Monsters”
> 
> "Bottom line is, even if you see them coming, you're not ready for the big moments... The big moments are gonna come, you can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that count. That's when you find out who you are." - _Buffy the Vampire Slayer,_ "Becoming, Part I"
> 
> “Life beats you up, Titus. It doesn’t matter if you got tooken by a cult or you’ve been rejected over and over again at auditions. You can either curl up in a ball and die… or you can stand up and say we’re different. We’re the strong ones, and you can’t break us.” - _Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt,_ “Kimmy Goes Outside!”
> 
> But mostly, I wanted to take my most beloved fanon tropes, turn them upside-down, and see if I could write an entertaining story. This was my first novel-length fic, and I learned a lot. I think if I were to go back and do it again, I’d do some things differently, but I loved every moment of the experience and I’m looking forward to working on a new project.
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me through the process.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author makes no money from this story.
> 
> Acknowledgments:  
> In addition to _Labyrinth_ , this work is inspired by the song "Mad World," by Tears for Fears and covered by Gary Jules, a prompt from the Livejournal Labyfic community, and by my friend M. who will probably not read this, but should be acknowledged nonetheless.
> 
> Chapter One is based on the Irish fairy tale, _The Story of Tuan Mac Cairill._
> 
> This story has been beta'd by Aurora Kemanche and Exulansis, both of whom I'd like to thank for their friendship, time, ideas, and general awesomeness.
> 
> Labyrinth is the property of Henson Associates, Inc., Lucasfilm Ltd., and TriStar Pictures.


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